


Comeback

by trispitas



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, BAMF Neil Josten, Butcher Andrew Minyard, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt, Heavy Angst, How Do I Tag, Hurt Neil Josten, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Maybe more - Freeform, Mid-Canon, My First Smut, POV Andrew Minyard, Protective Andrew Minyard, Raven Neil Josten, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:27:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trispitas/pseuds/trispitas
Summary: The Foxes get concerned when a Raven player falls like a corpse on the first match of the Spring season.They turn into panic mode when the helmet is taken off to reveal that his beloved lost striker, Neil Josten, is the one dying.Kevin Day is the only one who can explain what that means.Andrew Minyard is the only one who will fight nail and teeth to keep his promise.Even if it means becoming the new Moriyamas hitman.No one will ever take away what is his.It's a promise.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 40
Kudos: 173





	1. Scared when you're scared, but what else can I do?

**Author's Note:**

> Me: This shall be short. It won’t have a soundtrack 
> 
> Also me:  
> [Galaxies](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hjmKUPtSSGY) \- Isabella Richardson  
> [ Diamond Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sJXZ9Dok7u8) \- Alan Walker ft. Sophia Somajo  
> [Eye of the Needle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QyHMQvQwTIs) \- Sia  
> [ Look What You Made Me Do](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3tmd-ClpJxA) \- Taylor Swift  
> [lovely](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1Pl8CzNzCw) \- Billie Eilish ft. Khalid  
> [ Turn to Stone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gyECgwAzg3Q) \- Dalton Rapattoni  
> [ Comeback](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_dpHO77tQ-g) \- Jonas Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Made some corrections throughout the whole story. Flashbacks should be all in past and the present should be well... you know, in present haha. Maybe I do other minor changes for clarity and stuff, but it's the same angsty thing, don't worry)

Silence had never been so deafening as it is while Andrew waits at the front door of Fox Tower for a black car to arrive.

That week has been a week of firsts. Mostly dreadful.

Andrew only wants for all to end. 

As time kept rolling, it became clear that everything around him was a joke for the one watching above.

Andrew had lived his last years seeking to feel, and right then, in a couple of days, his only wish is for all emotions to stop. 

He clenches his fists at his sides for a moment. The scabs on his knuckles crack open. Again. The injuries are highly unlikely to heal if he keeps punching holes on every wall.

Anyway, both scabs and holes in walls, are only a small replica of the fissures tearing apart his armor of apparent indifference whenever he closes his eyes, and images start replaying in full detail despite his burning desire to erase them completely.

As if that was possible.

* * *

Everyone is gathered in the lounge of the Foxhole Court to watch the first game of the Spring season. It was the first time the Foxes were to play on it, and both Kevin and Wymack had been bitching about it. There was no need though. Everyone knew who else would be the first in tow to watch the match.

Too bad he was only a memory by then. A very displeasing one. 

Neil Josten and his duffel bag full of lies had disappeared the first day of Christmas break to never come back.

The whole team was devastated. Andrew wasn’t. He knew from their very first encounter that the boy hiding behind colored contacts was a lie. A true pipe dream that not even his meds could erase. 

He had enjoyed their truths games and the tangles of his lies. There were so many more things he would’ve enjoyed if only Neil hadn't been stupid enough to break his promise and run. But he meant to do it anyway, so there was no point in moaning for that. Life was still going, only it was boring again. 

Fingers snapping from Kevin were sort of enough to redirect Andrew’s attention back to the game. 

Ravens against Catamounts. It wasn’t even worth the glance to the screen, but Andrew knew Kevin wanted some kind of reassurance that they had any chance against his former team when they faced them again, so the blond forced himself to glue his eyes to the screen and memorize every Raven movement and maybe, if he felt like doing so on the day of their game, close the goal. 

Although, no one would ask him. Not ever again. 

Boring. Boring. The game was like any other. Ravens dominating the court, bringing their cruel violence, and making their dark mood cover the whole court. 

Goals were scored, hits were thrown, yellow cards were drawn, players were subbed. With ten minutes on the second half, announcers welcomed the newest addition to the Ravens as a strange backliner entered the court. 

The rawness of the match never stopped. Kevin flinched from time to time as he saw Riko score without mercy. Andrew was most concerned about finding a pattern to his attacks. Closing a goal was as simple as that. Every striker had their style, it was only a matter of finding it. 

For Kevin, it was methodic. One shot to every corner and one directly at the center.

For Neil, it had been three consecutive shots to an upper corner, one or two towards the opposite down, and then, one in every possible direction before repeating. But Andrew wasn’t wasting his time on the memory of fucking promise-breaker Josten. 

He focused back on Riko’s moves when the shot traveled all the way to the Raven’s goal. The new Raven backliner ran towards the ball in a shameful attempt to beat his bigger striker. The Catamount extended his racquet and jumped. The ball was caught, but when he landed, he stumbled with his backliner and the player fell like a corpse. 

Now, that was a mildly interesting turn of events. 

Foxes were all concerned. Bodychecks were allowed and they all had felt them, even Andrew. That one hadn’t been that bad. There was no reason to look like a rag doll after a stumble. The striker was as confused as everyone on the lounge felt. Paramedics were rushed inside with medical equipment and a stretcher ready. 

By the time Riko began shouting his usual nonsense to the player on the floor, several referees were cutting his path. A paramedic took the helmet from the backliner and his head lolled to the side. 

Ever Fox froze. 

“Fuck.” It didn’t matter who said it, they all felt the same. 

Auburn hair, a four tattooed on the cheek and a pool of blood coming from his mouth weren’t enough to make the face unrecognizable. 

Neil Josten didn’t escape. He ran directly into the mouth of the wolf. 


	2. You know the place that I go runnin' to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Brief details of Eastheaven.

Waves of worry wash away the anger filling Andrew, only to be replaced by helplessness that spreads like a virus. It’s only two minutes until the agreed time comes.

He takes out a cigarette and pretends that smoke getting in and out of his lungs will ease the myriad of feelings awoken inside of him. 

With every inhale, Andrew forces his breathing into a steady pace. One that matches the awful _beep, beep, beep_ that seems to never cease, no matter how far he goes.

As a car finally appears on the curb, the knives inside his armbands sting like a promise of murder. Andrew knows anger, hatred, fear, and vulnerability, but not to this extent. He needs so desperately to slash his way out of it. 

The car parks in front of him. A man in a dull suit gets down from the driver’s seat to open a door on the back and turns to face Andrew. He stays in place. There is no fucking way he gets into a black car. Every awful kidnapping story starts that way. It was no coincidence his own car is black, after all. 

Minutes drag with the chauffeur waiting, and Andrew looking until the man finally gives up and turns again to talk to whoever is in the back seat. 

“Don’t be fucking stupid. They will kill you on sight. It’s the boss of the Moriyamas. You can’t outsmart them.” Kevin had said days ago. Or was it more? Andrew doesn’t care.

The man with the dull suit approaches Andrew with a mask of blankness matching his own. Andrew allows himself to wonder for a moment if his façade looks as fake as the one he has in front. At that moment, a dose of his old meds and a crazy smile would’ve come in handy. 

“Lord Moriyama wonder why it’s taking you so long.”

“I was thinking the same. Tell your Lord he can come out anytime. I don’t have all day.”

The man flinches. Not as big and scared as Kevin likes to, but with a different kind of fear that announces a painful death ahead. Andrew doesn’t move and waits for the man to go back. 

It takes another handful of minutes until a man in his late fifties emerges from the back. His hair is perfectly gray and his face is starting to wrinkle. There’s power radiating even if he is wearing a dull suit that matches perfectly the one of his chauffer's, and behind him, his younger copy follows close. Andrew wonders for a moment how painful could it be to die with a bullet between the eyes. The pair looks like the kind of father and son that end unpleasant conversations that way. 

Any other man would’ve taken that as the cue to run and hide. Not Andrew. He has a purpose, he has a mission, and most importantly, he has a promise to fulfill despite the betrayal. 

“Not many have the nerve to be as insolent as you, Mr. Minyard.” says the older. Kengo Moriyama, according to Kevin. 

“Not many have the nerve to take from me what is mine.” 

“What you claim to be yours, was meant to be my property long before. Your argument lacks fundament.” 

“Fuck your fundaments. I made a promise to keep him safe and now you are planning on disposing of him like trash. I don’t approve.” 

“I don’t recall needing the approval of anybody to run _my_ business. Much less from _you_.” Kengo sweeps Andrew with disdain and something resembling amusement sparks on the face of his son. 

There’s hatred from the last week boiling inside, waiting to explode. Andrew is picturing a thousand ways to make the three men die as painfully as he can do. His knives are so close to being drawn, but Andrew is way smarter than this. If he kills the heads of the Moriyamas, hell breaks loose and he loses Neil for good. 

Maybe he’ll lose him anyway, but right now, hope is a dangerous advisor by his side. 

“We’ll make business then. How you feel about a trade?” 

* * *

The game broadcast was showing the pandemonium going on in the grades of the Catamounts Stadium as every single fan realized the same as the Foxes had.

Their newly favorite striker, the same one who was reported to be missing by the Foxes for the current season, was being rushed outside of the court in a stretcher. Still unconscious, still wearing black, still with an unknown name on his back. 

Realization came to Andrew in pieces as the previous month clicked together in one awful truth pointing to Kevin. He was the only possible connection and the only possible answer to the gap in Andrew’s knowledge. 

A swift movement was all it took to draw a knife out and place it on Kevin’s throat. The striker was sweating and had gone eerily pale. He almost matched the total lack of color in Neil’s face as he was carried away from the court. 

“He promised to protect you while I was gone.” Every word was spat with poison. 

No one intervened. Even Renee held back from them. Andrew felt the hard swallow of Kevin against the knife. 

“I didn’t know he stayed.” _But he knew he was going._

The full team’s attention snapped back to Kevin. Dan was the first one to find her voice. “You knew about this?” She pointed to the screen, now replaying the moment Neil fell after the contact with his striker. 

Another swallow. Andrew didn’t feel like asking. He pressed the knife tighter as an incentive for the striker to talk. 

“Something happened between him and Riko on the Christmas banquet. Riko said he’ll send a ticket. I thought it was going to be over by the end of the holidays.” 

“And you let him go?” Matt asked next. He was holding Dan, or maybe stopping her from finishing what Andrew had started. 

“So, the uncle was a lie,” Allison stated from the back. The first smart thing the woman had said ever. 

There was more to Kevin’s silence and the tremors he was failing to hide. The knife pressed a bit more. The first drops of blood appeared. What a good motivation to speak. 

“His father works for the Moriyamas. Neil is a loose end, he was meant to be like me. Like Jean. But he didn’t return to finish his trials. Riko found who was he after the TV disaster and threatened us. Threatened Andrew if Neil didn’t join him.” 

Andrew released a fraction of the arm, caught off guard. The Foxes were sending him murdering gazes. 

“We-I thought Riko and the Master would rerun the trials for Neil, and return him for the start of the semester. I figured that if they wanted a transfer, they’ll make it next year, and by then, we would have figured it out. And Andrew would be back, so it would be easier. I never meant for him to leave.” 

"So, Neil ran straight to the trap”. Aaron said after seconds in silence. 

“For us.” Nicky provided. His eyes were already red and puffy. 

“For you,” Renee said to Andrew. 

Every moment lived inside of Eastheaven replayed like a horror movie in the time it took Andrew to lose his grip on Kevin’s throat. It finally made sense why while he was pinned helpless and naked against a wall, fucking Proust said he was so happy to fulfill his commitment to the masters. 

Neil had fallen for Riko’s lies in a vain attempt to ensure Andrew didn’t go through that, despite Andrew being clear that what mattered most was his family and his promise to Kevin than himself.

Fucking martyr. Fucking senseless pipe dream. 

Andrew ran before anyone could get a hold of him. 


	3. I'll be on the way like a bat out of hell

Riko and Tetsuji Moriyama. 

Nathan Wesninski.

Patrick DiMaccio.

Lola Malcolm. 

Romero Malcolm. 

Jackson Plank.

In exchange for his and Neil’s freedom, Andrew has to be the one making the nasty jobs. 

Riko and Tetsuji Moriyama. 

Nathan Wesninski.

 ~~Patrick DiMaccio.~~ Proust. 

~~Lola Malcolm.~~

~~Romero Malcolm.~~

~~Jackson Plank.~~

Andrew’s desire to take revenge on Neil isn't good enough to turn him into the Moriyamas hitman. Kevin would’ve been hiding under his bed by then. However, Andrew doesn’t blink when he makes his list clear.

Blood will be spilled, but only of the ones directly responsible for Neil’s burden, and of course, Andrew isn’t throwing away the chance to make Proust beg as he made him do. 

If Kengo and Ichirou aren’t happy with that, they can wait for a knife sliding between their ribs too. 

It is time for Andrew to get back what is his. 

Pipe dream or not. 

* * *

As Andrew drove towards the interstate, he realized it was a reckless move. He had no idea where Neil was taken, and there is not even the slight chance he is turning on his phone anytime soon. Every single fuckhead must be calling him like there’s a fire on the lounge when the real fire was consuming him from the insides. He had to get to Neil. 

Dread. Fear. Terror. Powerlessness. Hatred. 

Every single emotion was brought to life at once, making his heart kick like a frightened rabbit. The analogy made him go harder on the gas and turn on the radio. He didn’t want the silly music; he was looking for a fucking sports channel. The news of the collapsed player being Neil Josten should be important enough to make it to the radio. 

There it goes. Stupid comments. Stupid comments. A place. 

Andrew parks on the emergency lane and brings his phone back to life. Messages, voice mails, and missed calls are giving a stroke to the device. It’s useless for a good five minutes. After it’s done downloading and receiving all the nonsense, Andrew dials Renee. 

“I know where he is. Look for the address.” 

He hung up without another word and texted the hospital name for Renee to look for it. He’s got a half-hour advantage at least, but he decided, against all his impatience, to wait until she replied. 

A few moments later, Andrew sped again through the highway, with the awful orange bus following far, far behind. 


	4. Come back to me, I'll come back to you

White knuckled fists are pressing hard against the cold window of Neil’s room. Curtains are parted only a few inches. It’s enough though. More than enough. 

_One week or both die._

Kengo’s final statement still sounds loud and clear. It’s even louder than the steady _beep_ _beep_ _beep_ _,_ the disconcerting _hump puff hump puff,_ or the annoying _tick_ _tick_ _tick_ going on day and night around Neil’s lifeless body. Andrew knows the clock is ticking. He doesn’t move yet. He is filling his pupils with the last remains of Neil Josten. 

Odds are that even if Andrew succeeds in his quest, the pipe dream will vanish any moment. And ~~when~~ if that happens, Andrew wants to be there. He needs to see it was because the boy broke the most basic form of his promise to stay, and not because the Moriyamas broke the deal. But then again, if Andrew doesn’t leave and gets over with it, Neil dies anyway. 

“I hate you.” Andrew mouths to the window before leaving the few remains of his soul behind. 

Of course, there is a bunch of Foxes outside, as they always are. It’s not the whole team like the first days. At least Andrew won’t be harassed in questions. He is the only one who hadn’t been taken apart from Neil’s bedside until the Moriyamas fucked his vigil. 

Abby makes a move as if to approach Andrew, but she thinks better about it after receiving a murderous gaze and plops back into the chair. Renee is the one who joins him instead. She’s the only one who knows the mess Andrew got himself in. 

“I can go with you.” Not a question, not other words to say she is actually going. A simple offering. 

Andrew knows what Renee is capable of. The two of them would be unstoppable and the job would be done faster. He could be back with Neil sooner, but he doesn’t need Renee in danger too. 

“No. Take care of mine, would you?” The girl nods. 

They are out and a couple of strides from the black car. Renee stops Andrew from climbing and extends a handful of knives. Bigger ones. The same she takes to their scrimmages. She _was_ prepared to go with him. 

“At least take this. You’ll need them.” 

Andrew can only nod. His defenses are crumbling. If he speaks now, emotions might filter in his voice. He climbs to the car and leaves Renee behind. Leaves Neil behind. 

When the soft roar of the motor starts, Andrew manages to let out another promise in the air. His voice is no longer bored but cracked with pain, and fear, and determination. 

“I’ll come back, and so will you.” 

The black car disappears into the driveway leaving a trail of dust that smells of murder. 

* * *

Arriving at the hospital was easy, getting inside was the real problem. The commotion was big enough to deliver a herd of reporters outside the main entrance. Nurses were trying to keep them at bay, but they were like a pack of hungry hyenas taking bites of juicy meat from wherever they could. 

Andrew parked his car blocks away. The vehicle was as easily recognizable as the blinding official bus of the Foxes and he was sure anyone stepping on his way was going to bleed. He rather kept his energy a while longer. 

He walked all around the hospital looking for other entrances, and used his short size to pass unnoticed through a door labeled “Doctors Only”. Making his way out to the main hallways, Andrew seized his options. He could either sweep each floor room by room until he spotted the liar with auburn hair, or he can go straight to the front desk and get answers. Neither felt appealing, but being taken away by force for trespassing didn’t sound entertaining in his particular situation. 

“I’m here for Neil Josten.” He stated to the closest nurse typing on a computer. 

The man spared a single glance and a fake smile before typing again. The knives underneath Andrew’s armbands were screaming to be drawn out. There was no need as the man turned to face the short blond again. 

“Sorry sir, we have no one under that name.” 

Of course not. The name on his awful black and red shirt read something else. The announcers had referred to him with another name. 

“Try Nathaniel Wesninski.” The nurse looked back with a tiny flinch and eyed the closest phone. 

“Don’t,” Andrew said before the man could do anything. “I’m not a fucking journalist. I’m his... former teammate.” 

Just like it should be expected, an answer never came because of the same old “only family” bullshit. Anger was poison making Andrew want to slash at anyone close. He couldn’t tell why the world _family_ had stung so much, but it had, and he wasn’t near Neil. Blood would be spilled if they didn’t allow him close soon. He slid free a pair of knives and was about to try the new approach at the front desk when a gentle hand lowered his armed hands. 

“Let Coach do the talking,” Renee said with a strained smile. 

Every Fox was looking battered, exhausted, betrayed, hurt, worried. Matt and Dan were clinging to each other, but it was impossible to tell who was holding who. Despite his obvious reluctance, Aaron was patting a sobbing Nicky. Allison was red-eyed, dressed like a normal person, waiting for Renee to get away from Andrew, and Kevin was on the back, beside Abby. A thin red line crossing his neck. 

“Alright Foxes, we’re allowed to see Neil.” 


	5. Proust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Details of Eastheaven and previous abuse, plus Andrew's revenge.  
> Oh, and the feels!

The way to Eastheaven is nothing even remotely near to pleasant.

Andrew’s dread for what is going miles away from him is clouded by the memories of his stay. The last ones are still too fresh. He’s leaving permanent marks in the leather of the steering wheel for how hard he is clenching it. 

There is no time to think about it, to fear of stepping back into that awful place. Andrew slams the door of the car and strides directly to the entrance. He skips the front desks and goes straight into the second room he hates the most from the whole building. Up the stairs, the third hall to the left, third aisle to the right. Fourth door. The one marked with golden letters reading _Dr. Michael T. Proust_. 

Andrew can knock. He can try the handle. If it’s locked, he is perfectly capable of breaking in with the slimmest of his knives as lock picks. Instead, he slides out the ones Renee lend him, and only to release a bit of his fury, he slams the door open with a ferocious kick. 

There is no one in the room. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. 

For some reason, Andrew is drawn back to the room he occupied. It was hard to acknowledge it has been only a month since then.

Without Neil and all the sorrow around him, it feels more like a year. 

Behind some doors, screams are heard. Prayers, mottos, nonsense. Any of that is useful.

He is close. So close that the scars in his arms start itching by the memory of teeth digging deep in them. His black long-sleeved shirt and the thick fabric of his jeans aren’t enough to stop making him feel naked. Andrew is only a couple of doors away from the damned room when he hears a begging, followed by the deep voice he’s been trying to tear from his mind since January. 

For a moment, Andrew’s limbs are frozen, tied to the corners of a tiny bed with bindings that are turning purple the tips of his fingers. The sedatives are too strong for him to fight as he should, but not so to let the memory wash away. One of Proust’s hands is over his eyes, the other between his legs, tickling him like Drake had done. Pulling as Samuel liked. Teasing, like Jesse discovered. Making him beg like Steven had forced. 

A scream louder than his memories snaps Andrew back to reality. He still feels too exposed, but the memory of a dying boy in a hospital room grounds him enough to find his footing and open the door muffling the screams. 

There’s a half-naked young boy standing on all fours on the floor, held tight by Proust. The motherfucker is serious, as he always was. Pretending that was his job.

No more. 

On a better thought, Andrew doesn’t want to stain Renee’s knives. This has to end by his hands. 

Andrew gets in unnoticed. He grabs Proust by the ears and tears him away from the boy. When the doctor catches a glance at who’s holding him, he lets out a laugh. 

“See you came for more.” 

The smile is still on his face after Andrew snaps his neck in one swift motion. 

It would be a good idea to get back in the car, but the boy on the floor is shivering, confused. Andrew has been that boy for too long, with no one around him to get rid of the evil on top. He wants to leave, but in the watery eyes of the kid, Andrew can see his life unfolding. He can see Aaron holding a bloodied Exy racquet while he was laughing because of stupid meds he never needed. 

This boy won’t turn into him. 

Andrew crouches in front of the kid and holds his neck. The contact sends jolts of past and present pain through the both of them, but Andrew doesn’t let go. 

“It’s over.” He says.

And it’s true for both of them. 

* * *

Hospital elevators are so wide that the full team fitted inside. Andrew got to the far corner. He wasn’t sure anymore if he wanted to see Neil. 

He had given him the key to the house in Columbia. He had asked him to stay. He had traded truths, and still, all about Neil was a lie. A lie uncovered only because Kevin knew all along what was hidden behind the dark hair and the brown colored lenses. Not because Neil had talked. 

Neil was a liar, but he had tried. He had made promises. He had given a name for Andrew to hold while he went to Eastheaven. He allowed Andrew to feel the truths that his body told. The bumps and tenderness of his scars had been seared in Andrew’s palm.

He could only guess how many were added during his stay at Evermore. 

Not because of his father. Not because of Riko’s insanity. Because of Andrew. 

Neil was always a fool inside of a martyr and so he had attempted to keep Andrew safe by sacrificing himself in vain. 

Rage spread fast through Andrew’s body, but it was washed away faster by something else. Because apart from Aaron on Thanksgiving, no one ever had done anything to protect Andrew. 

Voices made Andrew get back to the white hallway stinking of bleach and disinfectant. Almost everyone was either holding back tears or choking on them.

Andrew didn’t need to know. Words would be stuck in his mind, and he wouldn’t be able to live anymore when he recalled that every single part of it had been his fault somehow. 

Too much for someone who claimed to have no regrets and no guilts. 

“Can I see him now?” He cut the doctor’s babbling. 

All eyes were on him. Andrew forced his face to remain indifferent, and his hands far from the knives. There was an annoying tremor making it impossible to hold them still. 

There was a moment of hesitation before the doctor nodded and stepped away from the door. 

Andrew burst in, expecting to see Neil complaining about anything and everything. Throwing around his “I’m fine” bullshit while fighting to get free and escape, as his runaway nature dictated. Andrew could almost predict the surprise, the anger, and the hollowness in his face as he realized all the Foxes were there for him. 

_His family_ , someone would say and he’ll change to his awful look of deer-in-headlights. Afterward, all will surround him, and Andrew would be forgotten at the back with his Monsters because no one would think of him unless Neil asked. And he would probably forget, but maybe Andrew would find time to squeeze out the truths out once back in Palmetto. 

None of that happened. 

The open room had only one bed, occupied by a tiny body covered in more bandages and bruises than it could fit, and those were overcrowded with wires and tubes. Eyes closed. Paper-thin skin turned into a sample of every shade that could possibly have. 

Andrew fell into the chair by Neil’s side. 

Someone moaned. Another muffled a scream. Curses were thrown. Sobs erupted. 

A single tear rolled down on Andrew’s cheek. 


	6. Whatever we've done, whatever we'll do

After ending Proust, Andrew can’t return to Neil. 

He is still too raw and exposed, so he changes his way in the last moment and heads to Columbia. He doesn’t know why he goes there alone when there are memories of Neil too. Maybe it’s only because he’ll be on his own, or maybe because that was the first real home he had. The first bedroom he could sleep a full night undisturbed. He needs that safety now. 

It’s already dark outside by the time he falls on his bed. He doesn’t want to turn on the phone, but there is a chance Neil might’ve woken up during the day, so he lets the thing come to life. 

There are some bunches of messages. Most from Wymack, urging him to get his ass back to classes and practices. Not today.

He keeps looking in case he missed something. 

A new message makes the phone dance between his fingers. 

_Three to go. Six days left._

Andrew is no stupid. He can count by himself. Especially when Neil’s life is on the line. As soon as the message is discarded, another one gets in. 

_You will be aided for your next target. Be ready at 5:00._

If Andrew was the type who snorts, he’ll do it then. He had been enemy number one of getting up early when there was no need and no nightmare bothering around. His best guess was that he was going back to jail. News found after his bargain with Kengo let him know that Nathan Wesninski’s case had an appeal on January 19, and although his release was granted, it wouldn’t be until March 9 when the Butcher expected to be free. 

He could keep expecting all he wanted. 

The next day, Andrew drives back to Fox Tower before five. He doesn’t need the Moriyamas in Columbia.

He is on time, but a black car has beaten him to the front door of the building. Andrew’s empty stomach rolls in disgust. He doesn’t want to get in the car, and he certainly hadn’t miss juvie. 

The chauffeur stays quiet as he watches Andrew park the Maserati and approaches the car. There’s someone calling before he can get in. 

“Andrew? What the hell are you going?” 

Nicky is the one shouting, but Aaron is the first one to sprint towards the vehicle. Andrew taps two fingers to his temple. A salute that reminds him of his first meeting with Neil, and he motions the chauffeur to get moving before his twin and cousin can get any closer. 

* * *

Hours rolled one after the other. Andrew was kicked out of Neil’s room over and over.

He got back as soon as he saw an opening. If that wasn’t possible, he was the only one sat by the floor outside. 

All the Foxes were too afraid of Andrew’s temper to try their luck, and Renee was busy comforting everyone, so he was left alone. Coach and Abby were always somewhere else, doing the adult talking. 

Every single part of Andrew’s body was numb when Coach planted over him. 

“Get your tiny ass up, you lazy moron. We are taking Neil back.” 

The ride to the new hospital went in total silence. Andrew wanted to drive alone, but Nicky insisted he needed company, so he and Aaron were in the back seat. Kevin traveled with the rest. Andrew wasn’t in the mood for his stupid apologies. 

It took other several hours to settle Neil again. Andrew found his way back to his room with a murderous threat supported by Renee. 

He was tired after the drive and being glued to hospitals for days. His eyelids were heavy and he allowed himself a moment to rest his arms on Neil’s bed. He didn’t notice when his head fell, but he did when strange footsteps approached. 

Andrew thought it was a nurse or a doctor. Neil couldn’t spend more than an hour without one getting into his room to check on him. Andrew had memorized every face that would be in charge of him. This was not one of them, but the man, disguised in a hospital outfit, had a syringe already loaded and was aiming to pinch Neil’s arm with it. 

“I don’t think so.” 

Andrew had caught the man’s hand with an unbreakable grip. Exhaustion was quickly replaced with adrenaline. The stranger tempted his fate trying to fight. He was at least foot and a half bigger than Andrew, but the small man was feeling all at once in a very long time, hanging by threads of willpower vanishing at the same speed of Neil’s heart rhythm. He wasn’t in a good mood to lose. 

Careful not to touch Neil or his bed, Andrew got a better hold of the man’s arm and threw him to the floor. It was a fast motion, practiced thousands of times before all that it took for Andrew to pin the intruder’s body into his legs and held his head between arms squeezing the life out of him. 

The man’s hits were coming slower and slower to Andrew’s face. He avoided everyone without losing his grip. 

“What the fuck were you doing.” 

Another hit was thrown. 

“Answer.” The strangle became tighter. 

“The-boss.” 

“Who the fuck is that.” 

A string of coughs followed. The man’s face was red and purple. Andrew released the hold only a bit to avoid killing the guy too soon. 

“Mo-Moriyama.” 

“Which one.” 

“Lord.” More coughs. The stranger was gasping for air. “Lord Moriyama.” 

“When I release you, you’ll go back to whoever the fuck is Lord Moriyama, and you tell him to stick his fucking needle deep in his fucking ass. No one touches what is mine. Clear?” 

Another bunch of coughs followed before the man could nod. He was close to unconsciousness.

It was almost impossible for Andrew to get up and kick the man out instead of taking his very last breath, but Neil wasn’t safe, and he needed to finish every threat that could come his way. 


	7. Nathan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Blood and violence ahead. (But come on! It's the Butcher, you shouldn't expect less)

Nicky had been right that time when he said that all the orange grows on you after some time. But he was referring to Palmetto’s orange, not the dangerous shade of the prison onesie folded in the backseat for Andrew to wear. 

He waited until the last moment to change when a massive building that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else but a prison appeared ahead. There was a dark screen dividing the front from the back of the car to ease his need for privacy. Stripping from his black clothes felt every bit as painful as taking off his own skin. He kept his armbands and the straps that held Renee’s knives to his calves.

It was midafternoon by the time he was ushered inside the building, directly to the backyard. Nathan Wesninski wasn’t hard to spot at all. 

He was exactly like Neil had been once, but elevated to the maximum amount of evil. Malice radiated from him as bright as his auburn hair below the sun. He was strong and vicious, smiling all the way. He enjoyed being a scumbag, and a big one. It was surprising that Neil hadn't grown at least a couple of inches more. 

Andrew wants to launch himself directly to the man, but he knows it would be the end of him being so reckless. There was a reason behind Nathan being called the Butcher. So Andrew leans against the farthest wall and watches as the crime lord steps in to fight in the center of a circle. 

As it happens with strikers, fighters also have a style. If Andrew is here to take Nathan’s life without losing his own on the try, he has to find the pattern. The cluster of men around the ones sparring is too tight for Andrew to see through, so he has to climb on a bench to get a better view. It takes a full hour and three wounded contenders for Andrew to know all his moves. 

He will wait until tomorrow. 

The next day arrives in slow motion. Andrew is sore from the hard bed. He is tired, deprived of sleep for too long. His cellmates had tried to make him their pet. The three learned their lesson. Andrew is ready to end what he came for. 

The backyard starts filling shortly after lunch. Half of the inmates want to see the Butcher doing his show, while the other half is shitting their pants dreading they’ll be the main act. 

Andrew waits and waits. The fourth man trying his luck is a seven feet mass of muscle knocked to the floor in less than thirty minutes. 

“See? No one defeats the Butcher! I own this place until I get free.” 

“I will.” Andrew scrambles through taller men to step in the center of the circle. It takes a moment for Nathan to look down. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard. I won't repeat myself.” 

Laughter around makes Andrew’s blood boil even more than it already was. 

“A new contender, I see.” Nathan’s mocking smile spreads wider, there’s something painful reminding Andrew of Neil in the few moments that the striker let his disguise slip from him. 

His hands shake, but only a bit. Andrew’s mind seems to have more images recorded of Neil lying unconscious, than awake. His fists are clenched tight, his knives are a reassurance. He is ready to fight. 

“Waiting for you, old man.” 

The Butcher is faster than what Andrew anticipated, but not enough to get him on the first strike, and certainly not more than Renee on those rare occasions when she unleashes completely her older self. 

Andrew ducks and avoids every hit thrown at him, but he doesn’t throw any punch. His attacks will come with blades. A cut for every single scar in Neil’s body. 

The distraction costs Andrew a punch in the eye. Now, he _is_ mad. The fight starts for real. 

The crowd of bloodthirsty men is too close, and they are slowly shifting hurrahs from Nathan to support Andrew, but the blond can barely register any of it as he is putting to work the knowledge gathered the previous afternoon at the same time he ignores the swelling on his face. 

Limbs get tangled, bodies roll and Nathan is on top of Andrew. He knows this is how he likes to end the battles. Andrew doesn’t see the blade, but he feels the sting of sharp metal cutting across his nose. The Butcher is sporting his dangerous smile again, tasting the victory. Those seconds savoring a win he still didn’t own turn bitter when he finds Renee’s knives dug deep at both sides. 

Andrew is fast on his feet again and strides back with the same ferocity he had years ago when a gang of nobodies hurt Nicky outside of Eden’s. Except now, it’s worse. He had trained, he had learned, he had felt, he had something more to fight for. For the first time, he even has something to live for. 

With a scary accuracy, Andrew dodges Nathan’s blade and slashes his body in every single spot where he knows Neil has a scar. The orange uniform is stained in red and torn to shreds in minutes. The exited men around start making the circle wider and wider, afraid of the small terror bringing down their ruler. 

The Butcher manages to make more cuts in Andrew’s legs and arms. Even a couple to his chest. It’s useless. The blond is in a rant, copying those too, way faster than Nathan can respond. 

Andrew doesn’t want to touch that bastard, but he needs to pin him down the floor to end. He doesn’t know how much leverage he’s got, and guards can be there any second, so the short man presses a knee against Nathan’s ruined chest. He slides slowly another knife over the bridge of his nose. The last of Andrew’s wounds to be copied. 

A manic laugh escapes from the Butcher. Andrew slices that too. 

At that moment, the only thing missing is a hot iron to press directly into the bloodied man’s face and make him feel what six-year-old Neil did in his arm. A blade will have to make do. 

Nathan’s hands are all over him, trying to get him off, struggling like a cornered animal losing strength with every passing moment. Andrew wants to knock him off to make the final strike easier, but that would count as mercy, and there’s no room in the twin for such a nice thing. 

He threads his fingers tightly into auburn locks and tears back to hold the Butcher’s head in place. His hands are fighting to shake, but Andrew had mastered his pulse long ago. He presses the tip of his knife at the top of Nathan’s forehead and goes down as deep and slow as he can muster. 

Once the blade gets to the throat, Andrew adds more pressure to cut the larynx and goes even deeper when he finds the trachea. Nathan had gone limp, but the goalie doesn’t stop until he is sure the knife is touching the concrete below, and gives it a twist, only to be sure. 

Neil will never be hurt by his father again. 

Andrew lets the muscles of his face pull into a thin smile. 

* * *

Coach sent Andrew back to the dorms after he knew what almost happened to Neil.

The young man tried to protest, to make a point, to stick by Neil’s side, but this time, Coach didn’t budge and drove Andrew back to Fox Tower after making sure there was some kind of security ensuring his striker’s safety. 

The twin had fought most of the way back, but once inside his dorm, he realized a shower may be necessary indeed, so he shoved Wymack out. 

The hot water eased most stiffness from his sore muscles. Deep, deep in the back of his mind, Andrew knew he needed to eat and sleep before going back. Even deeper he knew he had lost classes and he couldn’t stay in the team, or retain the scholarship if he failed, but nothing seemed as terrible and certain as the man he fought only an hour ago. 

There was no point in rushing to return to the hospital, so Andrew took his time. At the last moment, he had a change of heart and broke into the dorm across the hallway. Thanks to morning classes, it was empty, and the blond could make way to Neil’s room without menacing looks or questions asked. 

Neil left behind some clothes. Andrew got into one of his sweatshirts without much thought. Then, he started digging through his few belongings. They were almost clothes and textbooks until he stumbled with a safe. He knew what was protecting. The only time he went through Neil’s binder, it had been against the clock. Not anymore. 

Picking the lock of a safe was harder than Andrew anticipated, but not impossible, and he got the binder in his hands after a few swears and several trials and errors. The words spat by the assassin were still rolling in Andrew’s mind. _Lord Moriyama_ , he had said. 

Every paper cut and printed piece of news was about Kevin and Riko. The blond knew very well Riko called himself _king_ in a shameful attempt to emulate Tetsuji’s rank as _master_. But there was no lord among the cuts or that Kevin had mentioned. 

For a brief second, Andrew remembered when he believed Neil was a mule sent by Riko to get Kevin back. How mistaken he had been. Neil was stupid, impulsive, and stubborn, but not a spy. If only Andrew knew then, maybe, just maybe, he’d been able to protect him better. Although it had been hard doing so from Eastheaven, where he couldn’t even protect himself. 

Dangerous thoughts were getting too close, so he returned everything back into place and got out before the stupid unrequired feeling made him do anything foolish. 

It took only a moment after Andrew slammed the door from his own dorm when a tall figure approached him. 

“I know the season is suspended and that you are worried, but we are losing precious time to train. We should be using it to our advantage and-” 

Kevin’s Exy chatter died fast as Andrew grabbed a hold of his throat and crushed the striker into the nearest wall. Some of Nicky’s DVDs and Aaron’s videogames fell from the entertainment center with the impact. 

“Don’t talk to me about fucking stickball while Neil is dying.” 

Anger was a dangerous thing, impossible to contain anymore. It’d been too much in the last few days. Even for someone as apathetic as Andrew. 

He punched the wall with his free hand too close to Kevin’s face. The taller man flinched under Andrew’s fist. After a minute or so, he mumbled a quiet “I’m sorry.” 

“Instead of saying nonsense, tell me everything you know about whoever the fuck is Lord Moriyama and why he wants Neil dead.” 


	8. If you're lost on the way, then I'll get lost too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it too soon to say that I cried my eyes out writing this one?

Tomorrow arrives faster than Andrew had thought. Every bone aches from the fight. The cuts sting. The scabs on his knuckles are bruises again.

He won, yet he is still in jail, far from Neil. A lump tries to take home in his throat. He swallows hard. Once. Twice. A third time gets stuck when someone beats the bars. 

“Minyard.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Andrew jumps from the bunk bed and joins the pig waiting for him. On his way out, some inmates clap for him, others cheer. In other circumstances, he might’ve found a bit interesting the attention. Not today. 

Outside of the building is the same chauffeur waiting for him. Neither says a word as Andrew climbs on the backseat. His discarded clothes are still as he left them. He is too sore to change, but the orange has his pupils on fire. After he is done, he drifts off into a restless sleep. The first one since the first Exy match of the season. 

It’s late afternoon when he gets back to Palmetto. He gets into his car to grab his phone, wallet, and keys. It’s tempting the idea of driving to Columbia for privacy, but odds are he crashes before reaching the house, so he turns on the phone and braces for the first wave of stupidity. 

There is indeed a shitload of messages, missed calls, and voice mails. His heart hammers furious against battered ribs. His first thought is that Neil is awake, the second is that he is gone. 

Bullshit. 

Everyone is asking where is he. Demanding to know what happened. He lets out a sigh. If he sleeps in the car, messages will get more boring and senseless. He motions towards Fox Tower. 

A new message gets in when Andrew is about to turn the knob of his dorm. No more questions, and no more scoldings. This one plummets like an anvil through his stomach. 

_Two to go. Three days left._

It’s harder than he expects to keep a straight face. His legs are unsteady as he opens the door. Nicky is in the kitchen. Andrew tries to be quiet on his way to the bedroom, but his cousin turns with the softest crack of the floor. 

“Andrew! You’re back.” He runs straight for the short man, most likely to embrace him in a hug. “Where have you been? We’ve been so worried and-” He is smart enough to stop at the last second. Then, he takes in what his eyes see. 

“Oh my God, Andrew. What happened to you?” 

“Nothing.” The twin tries to get to the door, but Nicky apparently isn’t as smart as he seemed moments before, because he cuts the path. 

“That,” He says pointing all of Andrew “Doesn’t look like nothing.” 

“Whatever. I’d like to clean myself now.” 

For a brief instant, Nicky looks like he can see through Andrew’s bored stare. He opens his mouth and closes it before stepping away. 

Andrew showers in a haze. His eyelids are too heavy, but every time he closes his eyes, every image of the last week piles up one over the other. It takes him more to get in bed than to realize he won’t sleep. All kinds of old and new nightmares are waiting around the corner to haunt him.

He takes Neil’s sweatshirt with him and thinks about going to smoke on the roof. He makes up his mind on the stairs and gets to the stadium instead. 

He is not surprised to find the lights on, but he is when Kevin is not burning himself on the court. 

Against his best judgment, Andrew picks a random racquet, a bucket of balls, and fires them to an empty goal. The force of each throw is so brutal that it sends tremors all along his arms and make the walls shake, matching the fast rate of his heart. 

He should be on his way to Evermore. 

He should be by Neil’s side. 

He shouldn’t be feeling. 

He shouldn’t be letting this get the best of him. 

He wants nothing. He wants nothing. 

Hewantsnothinghewantsnothinghewantsnothing. _He wants nothing._

He wants Neil. 

When his arms are burning with exhaustion and the racquet slips from his numb fingers, he drops to his knees and watches the entrance of the court, waiting for ~~a dark~~ an auburn-haired junkie getting inside with a stupid grin on his stupid face because he’s got to play Exy. 

“I miss him too.” 

Coach’s low growl almost manages to make Andrew jump out of his skin, but Neil’s smile is still on the other side of the Plexiglass, so he pays half attention as David approaches. 

“How is he?” It’s impossible for Andrew to tell how he could keep the cracks of his heart far from affecting his flat tone. 

“Same.” 

Silence covers them. At this point, Andrew doesn’t anymore if _same_ is a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe for Neil, always changing, always lying, it’s bad. 

“Where did you go?” 

“Thought it was out of your pay rate.” 

“It did until I failed to three of my Foxes. I’m not failing to a fourth. Even if he is the most annoying of all.” 

There was no need to ask who were the three. Janie Smalls. Seth Gordon. Neil Josten. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Now you sound as stupid as him. Don’t throw that bullshit at me when it looks like you stepped out from a fucking fight with a pack of lions.” 

Andrew didn’t want to. Didn’t need to. Didn’t have to. Mustn't do it. 

But he told Coach about his deal. 

* * *

For once in his useless life, Kevin spoke about something else besides stickball. There was still too much he didn’t know about the main branch of the Moriyamas as he had been part of the secondary branch, and a pet, nonetheless, but it was enough for Andrew to have a bigger picture of the horrors Neil and his mother tried to outrun. 

It also made the uneasiness grow. If the mob boss was even half as powerful as Kevin said, it wouldn’t take much effort to send another hitman to end Neil’s life, and it would be far too easy to finish the job if the junkie was left alone or with a bunch of useless friends by his side. 

He left Kevin blank-faced, drenched in panic. He had no time to deal with his nervous breakdowns. The striker could consider himself lucky to still be alive after keeping from Andrew what he knew for so long. 

Andrew went back to Neil, fearing the worst. When he made it, Dan and Matt were with the striker. She was holding his hand. He was stroking his hair. Andrew’s nerves stood on edge from the forbidden contact, but at least, Neil was still breathing. Sort of.

Andrew kicked the couple out. Both had swollen eyes and hollow stares. Both flinched when they saw the scarier twin, but neither said anything, and they let him in. 

There was no possible way in this world that would make Andrew get far again. 

Hours later, when the lights were dimmed and the sounds from the machines keeping Neil alive were the only thing to be heard, the private number called.


	9. Tetsuji

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Bits of blood and violence.  
> Is it too bad that I enjoyed myself with this one?

Coach wasn’t happy with the truths Andrew told him, but he had no say on them, so he let his goalie go directly to the hands that also had maimed his last three strikers. 

He insists that Andrew has to see Abby first to check on the wounds from his fight with Nathan, but the blond knows nothing is as deadly as the gash in his indifference. Then, Coach offers to send reinforcements. The police, the FBI, Renee, himself. It’s too risky. Not part of the deal. 

Andrew leaves alone. 

The hospital is almost on the way to Edgar Allen, but Andrew skips the exit and heads straight to West Virginia. If he stops now, he knows he won’t find it in him to get away a second time. He can only wish for Neil to keep holding on. 

Castle Evermore takes over the view. The only reason Andrew keeps approaching is to get over with his trade, but he’d rather go back to jail and kill Nathan a few times more than getting inside the building. 

It’s true that most of the time Andrew is indifferent to the world, still, there is something in the pitch blackness of the walls, the disturbing red lights, and the fear floating in the air that makes bile climb to his throat. Even in normal matches, he didn’t want to go in there. 

He parks as far as he can. He still doesn’t want to push the promised leverages and alibies. Pigs can be pigs anywhere, anytime. 

As he walks inside, the perspective of a gun to end things quickly feels appealing. Too bad he doesn’t have one and is even worse than he can already enjoy the looks on Riko and Tetsuji when they realize their lives are slipping helplessly through the clean cuts of Andrew’s knives. 

The layout of the building is like a 3D model inside his head. Kevin was good at explaining that at least, and Kengo had been useful enough to send him Tetsuji’s location. 

Dark aisles make Andrew feel vulnerable. He needs to feel a wall pressed to his back. He wants to sprint and get faster, but his footsteps are loud enough like that. Attention is not needed. 

Exactly as told, the old man is at his desk. 

“Didn’t know you could be doing something else apart from beating people.” 

Tetsuji's shoulders tense and it’s obvious he means to crowd Andrew’s space and punish him for the insolence, but the man is not near as fast as he once was. And he was not expecting visitors. Regardless, there is recognition in his eyes. Not every day the self-claimed best Class I Exy team gets rejected by a high school student. 

“I was wondering when you were going to come to your senses. I am afraid the offer is long gone. But maybe if you kneel after your new master.” 

If Andrew was still on his meds, a wild laughter would have bubbled from his mouth after such nonsense full of overconfidence. 

“No. It’s time for you to kneel.” 

Cane meets arm. Hand meets knife. Knee meets stomach. Cane connects to Andrew’s bruised face. Tetsuji is tougher than he looked. 

The fucking cane is a good weapon. In order for Andrew to use his knives, he needs to approach, but he has to duck and jump and avoid hits coming with a flawless aim. 

Everything is still in the patterns. 

Andrew catches a strike of the cane coming for his skull. Before the so-called master can register what is going on, the twin takes the wooden stick with both hands and turns it so Tetsuji crashes into a window. Glass cracks and shatters with the force of the impact. 

“You will pay, ungrateful brat.” 

Tetsuji tackles Andrew by the stomach and smacks his back to the desk. Jolts of pain make his spine scream. His face remains impassive. The master tries to pin Andrew’s hands. He has been way too much in this position before.

He beat Proust. He beat Nathan. Tetsuji is more technic than vicious. He is used to being relegated and try to make a name for himself. Not a real threat. 

“You are the one paying.” 

A moment after, Andrew is up, and the old man is on the floor. Back against the base of his desk. Andrew doesn’t know how, but the cane is in his hands. Neil’s bruises resurface. They are from hits. Harder than the ones Tilda gave to Aaron. Heavier than the ones she dared to give Andrew when the fucking whore confused them. Neil had been hurt with that same cane. 

Andrew swings the wood to Tetsuji’s ribs. The sound of bones breaking and his grunts wash some of the hatred. “This is for Neil.” 

The man holds to Andrew’s ankle. He lifts his foot and steps on the Raven’s hand. It crunches under his combat boots. “This is for Kevin.” 

He smacks the cane again. The man’s arm is crooked at an unnatural angle. 

“You...are...a...monster...” Blood spills from his mouth. Like Neil after he fell on the court. 

Time is running out. Andrew gives a final swing to the cane and connects it with the side of Tetsuji’s head. He expects blood to splatter as it did with Drake, but no. The coach is still alive. Good, he will hear. 

“Never said I wasn’t.” 

The final hit it’s so powerful that Tetsuji is beyond recognition when Andrew throws his cane by the side and steps out of the office. 

One more to go. 

* * *

Back at the hospital, in a darkened room,  Wymack is awakened by the screech of a heart monitor going flat.


	10. Riko

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Blood and violence. And the feels! I'm still crying buckets.

The hallway parting Andrew from his final target stretches forever. He’s numb, dizzy, head throbbing. Cuts made by Nathan are open again and bleeding. His arms sting and hurt too. Blocking Tetsuji’s cane from his face made his own knives cut his arms. He wants to let the world fuck itself and go rest. 

Neil’s image lying on a bed is enough reminder to fuel his steps. The things he hasn’t done and said to the pipe dream pump a new dose of adrenaline to keep him going. He heads straight for where the dorms are supposed to be, only to find them empty. He motions to resume his search when a glimpse of grey and blue catches his eye. 

Andrew gets in the room and takes Neil’s duffel bag. It has only a few clothes. His phone and charger. The keys to Columbia and Andrew’s car. The bed beside is stained with old and bad-washed blood. If Andrew closes his eyes now, he can almost hear Neil’s smart mouth filled with ragged screams. 

He holds the duffel bag so tight his knuckles lose every hint of color. Blood from the previous fights spill to the floor. 

Riko will scream too. 

* * *

"Clear!" 

The small army of doctors and nurses working around Neil's limp body get their hands off. 

Wymack sees auburn curls flutter with the shock of electricity. 

Strained voices urge him to get out and let the doctors do their thing. 

"Clear!" 

All his remaining Foxes are around their Coach, attracted by the sudden commotion. 

“Clear!” 

They watch with horror as his recently found striker refuses to keep fighting. 

* * *

When Andrew makes his way towards the stadium. Ravens are coming counter flow of him. Some spare a few glances, but no one asks, and no one stops him. 

Unsurprisingly, Riko is in the middle of the court, using an Exy racquet to beat the shit off of someone. 

“You are every bit as useless as your family said. You had only one job. Keep the fucking Wesninski whole. Make him last thirty minutes on court to show we don’t need Kevin. And you failed.” 

“I’m...I’m sorry...my king.” Jean Moreau replied between chocked sobs. 

“You failed. You failed. You failed. And you keep failing. Do you think that makes me or the master look good?” 

"No, my king."

The next strike doesn’t land.

Andrew has a fierce hold on the racquet. Jean looks every inch as bettered as Neil. Bile climbs fast to the blonde's throat. 

“Enough.” He can’t keep emotions out of his voice anymore. There goes all his hatred and terror and exhaustion from the past days. 

Riko’s face is still drawn in rage when he turns to see who dared to stop him. 

“Oh, but it’s number two’s psycho pet. You don’t look good. What? Are you here to move your tail for me as you should’ve from the beginning?”

It takes all of Andrew’s willpower to remain blank and unimpressed when the only thought running wild is tearing the motherfucker’s head off.

He turns a gaze he can only hope still looks bored to Jean. “Go.” 

“Don’t you dare obey a fucking dwarf.” 

Jean had his chance, if he didn’t use it, is not Andrew’s problem anymore. He grabs Riko by the neck and is about to slam him on the floor when a right hook gets the air out of his lungs.

“Jean, get this from me.”

Andrew doesn’t wait to recover. He launches again towards Riko. “Do something yourself for once in your fucking life.”

Punches are swung and blocked. Thrown and received. “Like breaking Kevin’s hand? You want the replay? Gladly.” 

Kicks and fists are too fast to register. The twin is too tired, he’s losing focus and slips to the ground. Riko steps on Andrew’s hand, but he was ready. The king sets his foot on a knife that comes all the way through his shoe. 

Riko gives the first shout. 

Andrew takes the opening to leave the blade there and get back up. 

With his foot bleeding, the Raven isn’t as fast. Yet, he is still powered by pure rage. Only Kevin has been brave enough to defy him, but no one has ever dared to hurt him before. Andrew gets smacked to the Plexiglas wall. The sound reverberates in sync with his bones. Riko has the goddamned racquet in his hands again. A swing hits Andrew on the knees. There’s another hit coming, but Andrew catches the stick on time and fights back. 

Riko opposes resistance, but only for so long. The blond is stronger and hits Riko in the head. It’s only a poor replica of what he did to Tetsuji but buys time to draw knives out. 

Andrew knows every place where it hurts the most without being fatal, and he delivers sharp blades to every one of those spots. Riko doesn’t deserve to go fast. He has to pay for the years of abuse over Kevin, for feeling best than Jean. For the weeks he used Neil’s beliefs as an excuse to make him his new punching bag. 

Blades are discarded and Andrew gets back to fists. He needs to leave the “king’s” body as bruised as Neil’s. He has to feel the crunch of his fingerbones after they are turned to sticks. He must see regret in Riko’s eyes. A sick part of Andrew wants the striker to beg for mercy and forgiveness that will never arrive. 

It takes minutes or hours for Riko to finally start screaming as he should. Andrew doesn’t stop. 

The Raven’s face is covered in blood and purple bruises. His voice is hoarse. The disgusting black and red uniform is wet from the blood loss. Andrew only stops when Riko starts convulsing under his weight. 

The contact is revulsing, but Andrew wants whatever is left of the so-called king to be in pain until his very last breath. 

With the tip of his slimmest knife, he makes punctures in Riko’s lungs, kidneys, liver, groins, and jugular. 

The last goes to the heart out of spite. Maybe with that, Riko will feel a cheap imitation of the void that has been eating Andrew alive since that fucking match. 

Riko’s eyes are wide open when the short man walks out of the court. 

He is still alive, but not for long. 

By the time someone finds the body, the Raven’s will have no king. 

Andrew picks Neil’s duffel bag on his way out of Evermore. 

* * *

"One. Two. Three. Four." 

Air gets pushed in. Air gets pulled out. 

The flat screeching of the heart monitor goes on. 

"One. Two. Three. Four." 

Air gets pushed in. Air gets pulled out. 

The flat screeching of the heart monitor is deafening. 

"One. Two. Three. Four." 

Air gets pushed in. Air gets pulled out. 

The flat screeching of the heart monitor never ends. 

* * *

The shivers slowing Andrew can be from sleep deprivation, worry, hunger, or pain. 

It doesn’t matter. They stop when he spots a black car parked outside of the Nest. 

His hand goes on autopilot to grab his phone and look at the hour. It’s off because he doesn’t need stupid messages flowing and he is not turning it on only to see the clock, but the light of the day says is still early. He fulfilled his duty on time. 

Nonetheless, dread is a savage poison spreading from the base of his neck to the tips of his fingers. He wonders again if the bullet between his eyes will make the dying part faster or not. After all that he’s done, his best guess is that he doesn’t deserve any more mercy than what he showed. 

Still, he spares a moment to wonder if at least Neil would feel a thing when they end him too. 

“You delivered,” Kengo says when Andrew reaches ~~his end~~ the vehicle. 

His mouth is so dry, apart from the remnants of blood, that he doesn’t know if he would be able to speak until the last moment. 

“That was the deal.” 

“Indeed, it was.” Andrew could almost see everything going south. There would be a million excuses for the old man to make, and he will end with a bullet or two in the skull anyway. “You and Mr. Wesninski are now free.” 

Relief is so unbelievable that the floor is close to crumbling under the twin’s feet. He manages to keep standing as Kengo goes back to his car and turns one last time. “You would make an acceptable hitman if you wanted. Contact me if you ever need a job. So will I.” 

The old man slips inside, and after a few moments, the car disappears from the view. 

Andrew falls to his knees. Shoulders shaking. Nausea crawling up his empty stomach. Fingers red and white from the fights and the strength he is holding on to the duffel bag. Air refuses to get inside his lungs. He forces a breath. Two. 

He had done this before. Not the killing, but come back from the verge of a panic attack. 

The duffel bag grounds him only a fraction of how taking Neil’s neck between his hand did. 

One in, one out. One in, one out. One in. One out. 

Dusk begins its arrival by the time Andrew regains control of his body. 

Time to drive back to Neil and don’t let go. 

* * *

Allison remembers the blank face of Seth when he was found sprawled in a club bathroom. 

Renee remembers the blood covering her hands after besting the man who used to harass her. 

Nicky remembers Neil asking if they were friends. 

Dan remembers his wide grin after the first match they won. 

Matt remembers the way his joy filled the court whenever he scored a point. 

Kevin remembers the fierce determination in his eyes when he defended Kevin from Riko on live TV. 

Aaron remembers his trembling fingers wrapping a blanket over Andrew after Drake's assault. 

Abby remembers the first time she saw all his scars in full display, and the shame behind his eyes for it. 

Wymack remembers thinking that boy would actually become Court. He failed again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry?


	11. Light up the world like only you can do

It’s way past midnight when Andrew arrives back at the hospital in South Carolina. 

Common sense screamed at him during the whole ride to pause. To go stop at Palmetto before. To head towards Columbia. Get a shower, clean his wounds, change into fresh clothes. Maybe force food inside. He hasn’t eaten in more than three days. Four, considering the time. Five, if counted as he should. 

Chances are he passes out on his way and crashes to death before arriving at his destination, but he makes it in one piece. 

It doesn’t take a genius to know something is wrong. The waiting room is utterly empty. His phone died on the way, so he couldn’t see if anything had happened. He walks the hallway leading to Neil’s room anyway. 

Andrew’s steps almost come to a full stop when he takes in the view. The whole team is in the aisle. They are shivering. Mourning. _Grieving._

The complete burnout is forgotten as a scream begins to come alive from the depths of his gut, threatening to shatter every single defense he has built over the years. Ready to come out when his greatest fear is confirmed. 

It was inadmissible that who was supposed to be only a side effect of drugs ends being the one who demolishes him beyond repair. 

But that doesn’t matter yet as Andrew approaches in a fearful sprint. 

By the time he enters the room, Coach is crying too. The big man who always faced the bad, the worse, and the worst with strings of swearing, marathon threats, and good booze, sits defeated on a chair by the corner. His shoulders shaking with such force that for a moment, Andrew wants to give half a turn and run all the way he came. However, his feet are glued to the floor. 

Oxygen escapes the room when he sees Neil again. 

Only a few days afar, and he is nothing like the striker Andrew left. What he is looking at, is a pile of bones covered in battered silk skin. Every shade of purple, red, blue, green, and yellow seem only brighter against a completely blank canvas. 

“He won’t make it to morning.” 

The whole universe stops. 

A handful of things want to escape Andrew’s mouth. He wants to tell Neil how stupid he was for running straight into Riko’s trap. He wants to tell him it’s going to be okay if he leaves now, even if it's not. He wants to scream at him for breaking his promise worse than anyone else has. He wants to finish the job. He wants to strip him of every cable and tube and bandage and pretend for a moment he is just sleeping. He wants to climb and get lost by his side. He wants to take his knives out and slice his own arms one last time. 

But he knows physical pain can’t compete this time with the horror awakened in his chest. 

It’s been exactly thirteen years, ten months, two weeks, and three days since the last time Andrew said the word he hates the most for the last time. When it was forced out of him because he was seven, and he believed. 

Nine years, four months, and six days since he promised himself he wouldn’t feel anything for anyone ever again. 

Four years, three months, one week, and one day since he stopped wanting anything. 

Eleven months, three weeks, and five days since he found the missing piece of his soul in Arizona, without knowing what it was. 

“Wake up.” His voice is only a whisper so low he may have imagined speaking. There is a tight knot waiting for the right moment to shred him into pieces. Andrew fights it to let out one word more. 

“Please.” 

* * *

No one is stupid enough to ask Andrew out of the room despite the restrictions, so he stays. His hold on the bed rails is the only thing keeping him standing. He needs to rest, but he refuses and forces his eyes to glue on Neil. 

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. 

At some point, Coach gets annoyed enough that he gives up the chair and squashes Andrew on it, but he stands again. He is sure that if he sits, he will pass out for good, and he doesn’t want to be woken up with bad news. He’d had enough for a lifetime. 

The pipe dream can’t vanish like [this](https://64.media.tumblr.com/45b0a752c462937a7069c5e60b7c3ab1/2b1fd23b9f04cc53-af/s640x960/af108350159a5fdb997fb95f72ca5004dc6ecb4d.jpg). 

* * *

Andrew is snapped from his numbing haze by something he can’t tell. He is still in the same room. Holding to the rails of the bed. There is a sound drumming hard at the same rhythm than the fear in his chest expands one more time. The image is the exact same as it has been for days. 

Except is not. 

A streak of chilly blue is lighting up the whole room. 

Moments pass before Andrew realizes it’s not a dream. The sounds are not in his head. Neil is awake. Dazed and frightened, but awake when they say he won’t. 

The heart monitor is speeding at an alarming rate. 

Andrew’s bruised hands move before he reacts properly. His fingers find the back of Neil’s neck. It feels so frail that he is afraid of snapping it between his touch. He manages to be gentle despite the earthquakes trying to sweep him off his feet. 

“Neil. Neil. Look at me.” 

Andrew applies only the smallest amount of force to make his head turn towards him. Something that shouldn’t, churns in Andrew’s chest looking at how helpless is Neil. Is obvious that he wants to get up and run, but he is either too weak or too hurt or both to do anything besides freaking out. 

In the back of his mind, Andrew realizes he must be adding some more to Neil’s fright. He hasn’t looked at himself in a mirror. He doesn’t need it anyway. Wounds apart, Neil didn’t know him out of his meds. For all it’s worth, Neil might be looking at the face of a stranger taken from a zombie movie set. 

“Neil, you have to focus. Breathe.” 

Andrew follows his own advice and takes a deep breath. Two. Three. Like Bee had done before on their first sessions when panic attacks dug their claws on him. 

He doesn’t know if Neil has any way to control the air coming in and out from his lungs with that fucking tube on his mouth, but after a while, the terror in his icy eyes starts to fade. The sound of the monitor resembles more to the pattern that got stuck into his ears since the first time he heard it. 

When nurses and doctors rush back in, with Wymack on their heels to drag Andrew out, he doesn’t fight anymore. 

As expected, all the Foxes are trying to stay afloat in the new wave of emotions. 

Andrew can’t and won’t deal with that. 

He ignores the commotion and keeps walking until he stumbles with a couch in the waiting room. 

After the largest weeks of his life, he lets darkness swallow him whole. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for bearing with me! Every kudo, comment, and hit has made me smile like an idiot.
> 
> Do you want more? The comfort, the softness, and maybe some smut?  
> Tell me, because I'm in love with this story and I can't wait to see what happens next.


	12. If you stay, then I won't to let you down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, finally something sweet :)

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

“Andrew?” 

_Not here!_ He’d said if he was still on his meds, or if he only had the strength to actually do anything. 

“Andrew.” 

Instincts are screaming at him to get up and fight the fool who attempts waking him up after all he’s been through, but he is still too sore to do a thing. 

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Annoyance wins in the end and he manages to open his eyes. Or try, at least. One is swollen and is not of much use. Anyway, Nicky’s figure is too recognizable even half-blinded. 

“What.” Andrew really wants to send his cousin far away to fuck off. 

However, before he can do so, his brain goes into overdrive with the last pictures seared in his mind. Neil. Neil dying. Neil awake.

Exhaustion. Soft hands under his arms. The dorms. The clothes glued to his skin with dried blood. Hot water turning red. Scared blue eyes watching his sleep, becoming a nightmare and soothing balm all at once. 

The first coherent thought drops from his mouth before he can do anything else. 

“Fucking Josten died.” Not a question. Not a guess. A certainty.

Because Coach said so, because Neil enjoys breaking his promises, is a fucking martyr, and because everyone leaves Andrew alone. One way or the other. Sooner or later. Always. 

Nicky is using the doorframe as a shield while his face loses every hint of color. “No, he hasn’t.” The older man swallows hard before talking again. “There’s a creepy man on the door saying he’s got something for you.” 

His mind has to rewind some more to understand the words thrown at him. His knee is too swollen to put up with his weight. Only for a moment, Andrew wants Renee to be close and help him again. He limps his way out of the dorm. He forces his face to remain blank so Nicky wipes his worries away. 

The Moriyamas’ chauffeur is standing by the entrance. 

A wave of nausea rolls to Andrew’s throat. He is no condition at all to keep being the family’s hitman. He made his conditions clear. He fears they broke the deal. Possibilities are racing so fast that he almost misses the yellow envelope extended to him. 

“As requested.”

Andrew snatches away the packet and digs into its contents before the man leaves, just in case it’s a trick and he needs a human punching back to send a message back. But no. His heart plummets against his ribs when he finds inside exactly what he asked for. 

* * *

It takes one day for Neil to breathe on his own again. 

It takes two days for the Foxes to think it’s a good idea to camp outside his room day and night. 

It takes three days for Kevin to start bitching about lost practices, but the season is still suspended. 

It takes four days for Andrew to take courage and return to the hospital. 

He has been repeating to himself that Neil won’t want to see him. That the other Foxes must be annoying enough. That he hates both hospitals and Neil, so there is no point going to meet both at the same time. 

Truth is, he is afraid. 

Afraid that Evermore broke Neil beyond repair. Afraid of the things that will happen inside of him when they are face to face again, without any more lies between. Afraid that Neil’s smart mouth will get Andrew dismissed despite all the troubles he got himself into on Neil’s behalf, even if no one asked him to. Afraid that the answer will be _no_. 

And he is not ready. He has lost enough to ever be. 

So, he waits. 

Because he wants nothing, and what he has for Neil can wait until he returns. No need to rush now that the pipe dream is safe. 

“You should go in.” 

Renee’s calm voice startles Andrew, but he doesn’t move. He is hypnotized watching the rise and fall of Neil’s chest from the safe side of the window. He looks impossibly young and frail. 

“What if it was all for nothing?” 

“If you don’t ask, you’ll never know,” she replies with one of her gentle smiles and walks away before he can say anything else. 

She got a point. And his skin is crawling with the stench of bleach. The faster he gets in, the faster he gets out. 

Andrew does his very best to hide his limp from Abby. He doesn’t want her trying to heal him again. When she notices him, standing indecisive in the doorway, the woman drops the book she was reading and heads to the exit. It looks like she is about to say something, but stops at the last second and changes her words for a shy smile that does nothing good to Andrew’s mood. 

The envelope in his hand gets more crunched as he approaches the chair by Neil’s side and sits. 

As he memorizes the changes in the boy’s appearance since the last time he saw him, Andrew realizes what a strange place to be is that. Taking care instead of protecting. Making new promises when past ones weren’t completed. 

He is shaking the ideas far away when glacier blue is fixed on him. Andrew tries to stay indifferent even if the whole room has lost every hint of oxygen. 

Fire meets ice. Neither talk for minutes. 

“You recovered your armbands.” Neil’s voice is too hoarse. Merely a whisper. 

“You did a poor job hiding them under your pillow.” Neil fails at shrugging. Andrew is getting tired of the twists in his belly. 

“It was supposed to be only for two weeks. The dorms would be empty.” 

“Clearly it wasn’t.” 

Neil swallows. A thousand horrors pass through his eyes before he can find his voice again. “Riko said first that if I didn’t go, Dr. Proust-” 

Andrew presses a hand to his mouth. He is warm and real, but the bones on his jaw and cheeks are too sharp to be healthy. The blond doesn’t need another reminder that the beginning of that has been his fault. 

“I know that part. And the next. Turns out Kevin’s tongue gets loose when he’s got a knife on the throat. Why did you stay?” 

“Because I couldn’t run.” 

Neil lowers his gaze. His hand shakes too much as he tugs the blanket from his legs. 

Andrew’s hand drops. It’s too much. 

The striker’s legs are as skinny and bruised as the rest of his body, but it’s the ankles that make Andrew fear his indifferent gaze is changing. There are two parallel lines of thick scabs and raw skin framed by bruises that are still black and purple on both legs. His feet are swollen. Andrew wants to bring Riko back to life only to kill him again a thousand times in more painful ways than the one he had. 

“He would cuff me every time we were not practicing. He knew I wanted to come back.” 

Neil tries to cover his battered legs again, but he is still too weak to manage. Andrew shoves his hands away and gets the blanket over for him. “You were never supposed to go.” 

“It was the only way I had to keep everyone safe.” 

“By being a fucking martyr.” 

“He gave me back my natural looks. I am a beacon to my father’s people. They will hurt you once they find me. I... I should be running anyway.” 

A shiver traveled along his body. Another panic attack was waiting around the corner. “No. Stop it.” 

Terrified eyes meet Andrew’s. “You don’t know my father. He won’t stop until he gets to me and kills me. Riko was easy to bear compared to what he will do when-” 

“He won’t.” 

“You don’t understand. Our deal may have been enough to keep me safe from Riko but the Butcher is-” Andrew grabbed the back of Neil’s neck again. 

“Dead.” 

“What?” 

“Dead. Thought you weren’t deaf five seconds ago.” Neil blinks several times. He looks like if he is trying to see past Andrew’s bored stare. 

“No, he can’t. He is in jail. No one touches him.” 

“I didn’t touch him indeed. My knives did.” 

And there it was, his deer caught in headlights look, mixed with something else Andrew didn’t know how to name. It took three full minutes for Neil to catch up with the words thrown at him. The cogwheels of his brain moving were almost visible. 

“You did what?” 

“I killed your father. Do you need me to spell it out?” 

“You didn’t. You couldn’t.” 

“And Tetsuji. And Riko. And also Proust, if that helps you clear your conscience.” 

“No. No. You’re lying.” 

“Why would I? I made a promise to keep you safe this year and I couldn’t because of your stupid lack of self-preservation. But I cleared the path for when you returned.” 

Andrew put the wrinkled envelope on Neil’s lap. The auburn-haired looks at him in total confusion. It's still too hard for him to take the things out, so Andrew let them fall in his legs. 

As Neil watches the objects one by one, his look passes from uncertainty to incredulity, to the purest form of happiness. He sets his blue eyes on Andrew, unable to ask if what he is looking at is real. 

“I’m so fucking tired of your lies, I may also have ensured Neil Josten becomes a real person.” 

Neil can barely hold his new driver’s license, passport, birth certificate, and social security card with his hurt, weakened hands, but the wide grin he gives to Andrew, even before realization settles, lets him know that this will be a moment he will treasure forever. 


	13. Wherever you are right now, know somehow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Panic attacks, mentions of torture and non-con, plus, the smut is here!  
> Tip: Read hearing [i love you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WiinVuzh4DA) by Billie Eilish and cry with me a little.

Fuck recoveries. 

They were long, difficult, painful, and boring. And that was without counting the insufferable amount of people constantly coming and going. Cheering, talking, bringing useless things, offering nonsense, trying to be useful when they were the exact opposite. 

That’s why Andrew preferred to stay with Neil at night when things went quiet and no one but him could bring the striker out from his panic attacks or his stubbornness for keep pushing when he was supposed to be resting. 

Some of those nights were actually good. They got to spend time alone. They could talk. Andrew would tell in full detail what he did to keep Neil safe. The boy would listen and maybe, he would offer a memory or two from his years on the run. The places he went to, the landscapes he saw, the few good things he had. 

Other nights weren’t so good. Neil would wake up screaming, drenched in sweat, glassy eyes, and shaking hands, desperate to get up, to run again, to do _something,_ and Andrew would grab his neck, forcing him to breathe, make him focus on one thing only instead of the full road ahead. Make Neil see his achievements and not the losses until he was calm enough to sleep again. 

There were fewer occasions when the terror in Neil’s eyes won’t leave him as one nightmare overlapped with another, and the pain returned fresh like Riko was still chaining him to a bed to use his body as a canvas for his knife skills, making Neil fight against the cuffs pinning him on site and rubbing raw his skin. Shouting until his voice was gone or a heavy cane, mad because of the noise, would beat him unconscious for Riko to keep doing his will on a marred and limp body without restrictions. 

On those few nights, Andrew would ask, force an answer from Neil’s fright, and the blond would climb to the bed and sit beside his frightened pipe dream, allowing him to grab Andrew like a lifesaver. Those rare times were also terrifying for Andrew. He never pictured Neil like the type who cried. As tears wet his jeans, the twin would make his best to offer comfort, even if he didn’t know how. He would streak the auburn locks, let the striker squeeze his arms and hands, allow him to hold onto his waist like Andrew was the only thing who could keep them both afloat until the memories resided and his breath became even again. 

That’s how the next fifteen nights went by, and then, Neil was allowed to go home. 

*** 

Neil’s release is on Saturday. After tons of arrangements, several arguments, and a few knives out to make some points clear, Andrew is driving to Abby’s place. The auburn-haired fast asleep on the backseat cuddled with the bunch of blankets and pillows that Andrew shoved in for him. 

He is being extra careful on the way to avoid startling Neil. Even Nicky is silent during the ride and although Kevin and the twin are again on sort of speaking terms, the big man has very clear that Exy won’t be an accepted topic yet. Maybe not ever. There is still a long way to go for that, and no one is ready. But banning the talk doesn’t necessarily mean that Kevin is going to be useful or smart anytime soon. 

When they arrive, Aaron heads straight for the house without losing a second. At least he leaves the door open. Nicky and Kevin rush to the trunk to get out Neil’s things and the fucking wheelchair. Andrew really wants to shove it inside of their asses. And for the millionth time in the past weeks, he wants to bring Riko back to life and kill him over and over until he gets tired, which is highly unlikely after all the damage he managed to cause. 

By the time Andrew makes it to the back seat, Neil is flinching at the sight of the chair. 

“Yes or no?” 

Scared glassy eyes turn to Andrew, then the fucking chair again, and back to the blond. “No.” 

It’s too easy to take the damned thing out of the way and scoop Neil up. He is still too skinny, so it takes no effort for Andrew to carry him inside and place the man on a bed in the room that used to be Andrew’s when he stays for holidays. 

In a couple of minutes, Neil is settled, and the rest of the day goes by between visits and Abby’s care. Andrew tries to vanish a couple of times, but the striker asks him to stay every time, so the blond stays until they are left alone again and Neil asks him to get by his side. 

As Neil is about to fall asleep, Andrew allows himself to get lost in his new features. The sharp cheekbones, the hair that seems darker in the dim light of dusk, his eyelashes extending over the fucking _four_ tattoo. The scars that frame his jaw, his eyes, his nose. It’s almost too much to bear. The blond has the sudden urge-as he’s had for the past weeks-to make Neil wake up and ask for a kiss. Or two. Or a lifetime of them, if truth needs to be told. 

Being like this, it’s too hard to remember that he wants nothing, and yet, the pipe dream proved to be real, so it catches Andrew off guard finding himself about to brush his lips over the reddish hair. He is even more surprised by what he discovers in his faint slip. 

“When the fuck was the last time you got a shower?” 

“Mmm?” Neil was probably already asleep, judging by his hoarse mumble. “I don’t know. I didn’t like everyone’s hands on me.” 

Andrew starts moving before he can give much thought to what he is about to do and gets out of the bedroom to get everything he needs. 

When he gets back, Neil is cuddled against the pillows. It’s almost cruel to disturb him when he looks so peaceful, but he _stinks_. There is no softness in Andrew when he rips the blankets from him. “Yes or no?” 

Neil blinks once. Twice. It’s the first time he sees Andrew without his armbands. Icy blue eyes are awake again and traveling the lines that the twin carved over and over so many years ago, when shouting and crying and fighting wasn’t enough to let all of his pain out. Lines that were cut open again in December by Proust, while Neil was thinking that his sacrifice had been respected. 

“Yes?” 

“Try again until I believe you.” 

“Yes,” He repeats, more secure. 

Andrew lifts Neil again and heads to the bathroom. 

“Can you stand?” Neil nods. 

Andrew takes off Neil’s socks before placing his feet gently on the floor. The boy is as unsteady as a newborn deer, but he holds tight to the sink. Andrew turns on the shower and gets back to undress his striker. He takes his time. He tries to fool himself thinking it’s because he wants to be careful, but he is also taking in every inch of Neil. 

Awe and hatred fight inside his belly, the same way that beauty and brutality mix in the striker’s body. Andrew contemplates every scar and bruise, old and new. 

His deal with the Moriyamas wasn’t fair. They should’ve granted him a full year to make the job as painful as it could be, for as long as it could be, in order to try to make them suffer as much as Neil has all of his life. 

A trembling hand clenching the collar of his shirt snaps Andrew back to the bathroom. The touch wasn’t allowed, but it doesn't feel bad. In fact, he wants more, but Neil can’t hold himself anymore. 

The blond carries him again and places the skinny body on the plastic chair he got inside the shower before. Then, he gets rid of his shoes and socks and decides at the last moment that he doesn’t want the feel of wet pants, so he takes them off too. There is something in his face that wants to resemble a smile when Neil swallows at the sight of his bare legs. He steps inside. 

In theory, Neil has enough strength and he’s been to sufficient therapies to work through a shower on his own, but Andrew wants to try and see if whatever is fluttering inside of him gets bored with the tasks, or instead, starts to summersault as it does with anything concerning Neil Josten. 

He works efficiently through his hair and limbs and lets the striker take care of the rest. 

The deep red marks on both of Neil’s ankles make Andrew kneel in front of him and inspect them closely. During the stay at the hospital, _amputation_ was an ugly word repeated constantly on Neil’s back. Fortunately, the gashes are healing. Too slow, but steady, and the blond can release some tension he didn’t know he was carrying. 

Then, all his thoughts turn into white noise when he gets distracted by the striker's crotch. 

Hunger that Andrew thought was well satisfied growls furiously inside. He uppers his gaze to regain control, but Neil’s blushed cheeks and parted lips only make the hardness in his underwear get worse. He gets closer to that pretty mouth. 

“Yes or no?” He asks with a sharp breath. 

“Yes” 

When their lips touch for the first time, is every bit as sweet and savory and delicious and addictive as Andrew had wondered since they met. Their tongues meet in a dance of doubt and delight. He wants more, so more. There is no room for the nothing Andrew claimed inside of him anymore. Not after everything is filled by the man in front of him.

Neil has his scarred hands holding at the sides of the seat. Andrew releases his hold on the back of the chair and takes the boney fingers in his to guide them towards his neck. “Only shoulders and up.” he indicates with a jagged breath before taking another try of Neil’s mouth. 

Hands get tangled behind his neck for a moment before making way up through his half-wet hair. They curl and tug and dig deep into his scalp. 

Next time he opens his eyes to get some air back, he notices the striker is hard as himself. He takes a hand closer to the boy’s thigh, without touching, but the message is clear. “Yes or no?” 

The grin he receives is enough to light the whole house. “Yes. Always yes.” 

The urge in both is thicker than the vapor around. However, Andrew wants to savor the moment in case there is no replay. If Andrew has learned something, is that every pipe dream always vanishes. 

His hands cradle Neil’s hips. They are narrow and sharp. Several pounds below healthy, and beautiful regardless of the rips in his skin. His thumbs work slow circles around, finding without rush what they came from. Expert fingers take care of teasing the dream’s lower body while the twin leaves a trail of kisses along every reachable scar. Skin below his lips shudders depending on the place, but there’s never a call to stop as he leaves a trail of goosebumps, so Andrew goes back down, down, down, down, and swallows Neil whole. 

It’s not forced. It’s not an experiment.

If heaven existed, that must be what it tastes like. 

The grip on his neck turns stronger as Neil gets closer and the hungry beast roaring inside of Andrew curls in pleasure once the striker has his release. 

The blond has no intention of taking time to kiss his way back up again, so he clashes Neil’s mouth with another kiss. 

“Do you want me to-” Andrew doesn’t let him finish the question. He goes in for another of his perfect kisses while his hand leaves Neil's hips to take care of his own needs. He wants Neil to do anything and everything to him of course. But not now. Not when he is still weak. Not after having so many boundaries pushed in one night. In the past weeks. 

Andrew can’t tell yet what it means. 

When he finishes, his breath is shaking against the arm with which he held to the back of the chair. Lips on his neck startle him. He really wants to be angry, but it’s impossible with those bright eyes bringing light to every shadow of his soul. He swallows and stands before he loses the last thread of control left. 

Andrew helps Neil get dry and dressed. The boy is too tired to stand again, but neither care. The blond spares a glance to see if there’s anyone around, and when he makes sure the path is clear, he carries Neil back to the bedroom. His head rests on Andrew’s shoulder and he notices the moment when the auburn-haired falls asleep in his arms. 

It’s harder than it should placing the sleeping striker on the bed instead of keep cradling him, but Andrew is getting cold and a shower on his own should be enough to ease his nerves standing on edge after feeling _so much._ He thought that wasn’t possible, but there was Neil Josten to prove him wrong again. 

Once he finishes cleaning and dressing, the twin wants to grab some food, but light blue cuts his path. “Sleep with me?” 

There is a small smile behind the exhaustion and Andrew know as he approaches the bed and gets into the covers, when a “yes or no” is thrown at him and he has an arm holding him like he is something precious, that he belongs to the pipe dream and there is nothing he won’t do to keep that smile on his face. 

That night, was a good night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can say my first smut went right, isn't it?


	14. HBD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's (almost) my boy Neil's bday! Enjoy this fluff I wrote to celebrate him 🧡

Andrew was definitely allowing himself to get carried away by Neil’s joy. Otherwise, there is no logical explanation as to why he is driving the pipe dream towards the stadium instead of Fox Tower after he got Abby’s clearance to get back to classes. They could be using each other time’s in more pleasant ways, but then again, Neil loves his newfound family and all their nonsense. And Andrew is no one to take that away from him. Even less after everyone thought they’d lost him for good. Twice. 

Matt’s massive truck and Allison’s hideous atrocity are already there when they arrive. Neil is still too unsteady to walk that much from the parking lot to the court on his own, and he is too stubborn to use any walking aid, but Andrew has proved his talent as a reliable walking stick, so he lets the striker hold to his arm and squeeze it all the way. 

As Andrew knew beforehand, the lounge is covered with streamers, balloons, confetti, and an enormous _Happy Birthday_ sign.

Every Fox approaches Neil with a big smile. Some dare to pat him on the shoulder and Matt ruffles his hair. Almost everyone gives him presents and of course, the boy looks lost. He turns to see Andrew, but it wasn’t his idea, so he won’t make it easy, although there is the faint ghost of a smile trying to break free as Neil gets more and more confused. 

“Happy birthday kid.” Coach is the last one to approach and the striker finally finds it in him to talk. 

“Thank you? It’s-It’s not my birthday, tho.” 

His comment is received by a well-deserved couple of eye rolls. 

“Some things never change, do they?” Aaron asks. Her cheerleader shushes him with an elbow on the ribs. Maybe Andrew doesn’t hate the woman that much after all. 

“Sweet baby, don’t tell me you forgot your own birthday,” Nicky says. 

“It’s March 31, Neil! We promised you a party!” Matt follows with one of his brightest smiles. 

The auburn-haired turns to look at Andrew as if he’d had any part in that. He was only the driver and his attention is drifting away from the happy reunion as he eyes the big cake on the back. That may be worth the bother. 

“Told you my birthday was in January,” Neil says, clearly uncomfortable. 

“And you were getting killed then.” Allison goes on. “You deserve a birthday party. Even if it’s not your real birthday.” 

“But-” 

“Look at it this way,” Nicky interrupts. “You get to celebrate twice every year. Sounds like a dream.” 

Neil looks like he wants to keep arguing, but Wymack steps in before. “Shut the fuck up before I get sick. These morons made you a party. Enjoy it and stop looking like a stray cat for once.” 

The next argument in Neil’s tongue dies as everyone starts to roll food around. They are smart enough to restrain themselves from singing and the cake finally arrives. Since the junkie is happy talking to everyone and watching wide-eyed all his presents, Andrew can distract himself by seeing how many slices of birthday cake he can eat before getting sick of it. As if that was possible. It’s easier for Kevin to die from diabetes just by watching. 

"Alright. Time to get serious.” Wymack is clapping to get everyone’s attention after they all are stuffed and ready to pass out. It takes almost fifteen minutes for the team to clear their heads and gather in the sofas around their Coach. 

“As you know, we are too far away to have a normal championship, but after how things unfurled for the Ravens,” He spares a brief glance towards Andrew that the twin dismisses “They decided to get them back to their original district. That said, championships will be only a single round of deathmatches to be played on the same day. Winner teams will be qualified by points scored. The two best go directly for the championship and the rest can wait until next season.” 

“I still don’t know which team we will be facing but from now I tell you that for once, it doesn’t matter the score. This year had brought a shitload of problems I hope I never have to face again, but we made it to this round, so let's take the chance as best as we can and keep showing we are not a joke anymore. 

Wymack is faster to keep talking before his shortest striker speaks “As for you Neil, don’t even expect to play more than five minutes. You are allowed back to practices, but I will strangle you myself if you pull another fucking stunt in a court. Depending on how you do and in the remote chance we pass, I might think about letting you play the full final match. Doubts?” 

Everyone shook their heads or deny. Andrew can’t take getting back to practices, but Neil is radiating energy only with the perspective of five minutes on a match, so he abstains from complaining as Kevin starts talking endlessly about every single plan and strategy he’s plotted during the past months. 

Andrew can’t wait to get out of there, but if Neil is happy, he can stay a bit longer. 

* * *

Campus is swollen by darkness when they get out of the gathering. Nicky spends the short ride speaking, as he always does, and Kevin is making a tantrum from traveling in the back. Andrew can’t care less. If he doesn’t like it, he can walk to Fox Tower or catch a ride with the rest. 

When they arrive at the building, Andrew takes Neil’s duffel bag and motions towards the elevator. The junkie is about to protest, but he is finally learning to tell when he’s tired and the night hasn’t ended for them, so he steps into the elevator. 

Andrew has the door of the dorm open for Neil. They step in and the blond makes way to the bedroom. He dumps the duffel bag on the bed and looks for the things he stuffed in there before heading out. 

“Wait.” There it goes. The cogwheels inside the junkie’s brain finally move. Nicky and Aaron pause their silly game to see “This is not my dorm.” 

“It is now.” Neil looks for the lie in Andrew’s eyes and then he sees Nicky laughing as bills pass between him, the other twin, and even Kevin. 

“You are such a cute thing. Andrew kicked Aaron out as soon he knew you weren’t dying.” 

Neil looks startled from Nicky’s gigantic smile to Andrew’s shrug. They had shared enough nightmares and had slept together so many times for it to be a scandal, but it was until then when the blond realizes he didn’t ask. He just acted out of spite because he wanted to have Neil close. 

A big smile spreads on the striker’s face and then he follows Andrew to the roof. 

After three cigarettes, Andrew still can’t find how to get this over with. They had talked about bigger demons before. They had shared more intimacy. It shouldn’t be a big deal. Still, his voice is almost scared when he talks. 

“Enjoyed your party?” 

Icy eyes send a wave of shivers down his spine. “I guess. I’ve never had one.” 

“And you won’t ask me why I didn’t get you a present?” 

“Do you want me to? I don’t need presents. And you had given me much more.” 

“Then shut up.” He says and finally drops the contents of his pocket in Neil’s hands. 

Minutes pass before the striker can talk again. “My phone and keys.” 

“You left them on purpose.” There is a hard swallow traveling down Neil’s throat. 

“Told you I never thought I’ll stay. And... I couldn’t be Neil Josten in the Nest. If I took these, they would’ve been more reminders of the life I couldn’t have anymore.” 

“You have it now.” The official IDs sent by Kengo are still unbelievable to Neil. He nods as he grips the objects in his hands. The proofs that he is real, that he didn’t come out from Andrew’s drugged mind and he will stay. Probably. 

“And this is your present.” The blond drops a packet of cigarettes in Neil’s lap. He looks bewildered and attempts to give them back. 

“Abby says I shouldn’t smoke again.” 

There is no point in explaining things to the pretty idiot, so Andrew settles for looking at him until he opens the damn box and takes out a couple of pieces of cloth. 

“You want me to sew your socks?” 

“Don’t be stupid,” Andrew replies while pulling up his sleeves. Maybe Neil can get the hint that way. 

“Armbands?” 

“It’s already hot as fucking hell and you keep wearing long sleeves.” 

Realization crosses fast through his face. If the junkie thought Andrew wouldn’t notice he didn’t want the scars on his wrists on display, he was even dumber than how he looked. 

“Thank you,” The red-haired says while slipping the pieces of cloth through his hands. 

Words are burning Andrew’s throat worse than the smoke of his sixth cigarette. He doesn’t want a _no_ , but he knows he won’t be in peace if he doesn’t ask. “Will you stay now?” 

“I haven’t gone anywhere.” 

The blond only spares a glance at Neil. He doesn’t want to explain. However, as silence stretches, he knows he needs to make sure the point is understood just in case Neil is indeed stupid or Andrew hasn’t been clear enough. 

“Last year I told you to give me your back and stay. You ran away and did the exact opposite. You’re not in danger anymore. The promise stands. I’m just asking again.” 

A wild river clashes with sweet honey. For the first time in a long, long while, Andrew can’t tell what those eyes are hiding. He is the one with the blank expression, not Neil. Silence keeps growing between them. The blond is sure he talked too soon. He is expecting the dream to vanish because it has been a big strike of consecutive good weeks and nothing lasts forever. He doesn’t forget that. 

“Your memory isn’t so perfect after all.” Andrew is startled by the comment. Of course, it is. A fucking burden he never asked to have. A good thing when it comes to Neil and the bright smiles he gives. The twin starts digging if he had any other slips like the room swap without asking first, but he can’t find any. “I said yes. Always yes.” 

“It was a different question.” Relief spreads as he speaks. 

“But the answer is always yes.” The blank stare is quickly replaced by a big smile. 

Andrew knows he has to tell him that _always_ can’t be his answer for everything, that there will be times when it’s _no_ , that he will respect any change of mind, that he doesn’t want to force it, that he is afraid everything is still an illusion, but Neil is so close and he has talked so much, that the only thing he manages is a soft growl as the striker´s lips are near his neck, and then, every objection gets drowned in a kiss. 

“One condition,” Neil says when they part. “You don’t protect me. We protect each other.” 

Every complaint dies even before Andrew can voice it because it is true.

Before Neil said it, he gave his life willingly for Andrew, and the blond had turned the world upside down in a week to keep the pipe dream safe. The promise was fulfilled before it was made. 

Regardless, it’s the first time someone says to him anything like that, and it fills his chest with something so powerful and strange that he isn’t sure if his life is really this good. Perhaps he died in juvie, or in Thanksgiving, or in Easthaven, and this is all a weird fantasy created to bear the boredom of being in hell. 

When they return to the dorms, neither asks before getting inside the same bed to fall asleep with their fingers intertwined. 

If _always_ feels like this, Andrew can get used to having it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the fluff as much as I loved writing it because there's news...  
> Remember that list of the Moriyamas that Andrew ignored? The following chapter dives into that, but it turned out way too dark and it has every single tw available. It's got heavy angst, pain, blood, fire, tears, screams, scars, heavy trauma, non-con... you know how this works.  
> I can post it and give you all the feels plus a new dose of love afterward, or I can let it die. You decide :)


	15. Heaven know I'm proud, but I'll turn 'round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Blood, sweat, tears, gore, torture, non-con, heavy trauma, vomit, lots of heavy angst, and my awful grammar.  
> There's everything here. Proceed with caution. To be fair, I didn't know I could write such things.
> 
> Last proof read of this one was made listening [To Be Human](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T84LqClui9A) by Sia. Just in case you want to add a pinch of salt to the wounds.

Cold brushes Andrew’s arms and face. 

His armbands and knives are not with him. 

It takes several tries to open his eyes. 

Before he can reckon his surroundings, he feels the hot hands in his arms, dragging him across grass and dirt. Then he feels the cold metal around his wrists. 

He plants his feet on the ground. He is too dizzy, but he spent years under heavy medication. He can fight even drugged. 

When the men holding him notice he is awake, they are received by a kick and a headbutt. Andrew can only duck and kick since his hands are tied to his back. He has another three persons behind him. There’s no time to maneuver his legs and put his arms in front of him to punch them properly, so he runs. 

It’s too dark to see where he’s going, but he can catch a glimpse of a highway ahead. He sprints faster to reach it. However, his path gets blocked by a massive man holding a crowbar. Andrew dodges him and keeps going. 

He can almost step foot on the highway when three pairs of hands grab him from the arms, the legs, his torso. He spins and tries to kick, but he is outnumbered. His hands are tied. His knives are lost. He is carried back to a pig’s car. 

It doesn’t matter how much he moves and twists, the men holding him above the ground have a fierce grip on his body. 

A woman approaches. He can’t see her face in the dark, but he can hear. 

“Ain’t no fun if you hurt us.” 

The smile never leaves her face as she smacks a rock to Andrew’s head. 

Next time he wakes up, Andrew is sitting on a chair. The room is covered in darkness. 

Moisture dampens his head and shoulder. The scars in his arms are stinging like they are split open again, but he can’t see. 

“Look, our tiny toy is back.” 

Andrew struggles to wake up fully. His head is hammering too hard to focus. 

Contours start to appear as his eyes get adjusted to the dark. 

Knives glint on walls and there is a drain in the middle of the room. 

He has been here before. His hazed brain takes a few moments more to recall. 

No. 

_Neil_ has been here before. 

This is one of his nightmares, not Andrew’s. 

* * *

Next Monday after Neil’s party, Andrew almost needed to be shoveled out of bed. 

Daily morning practices were off for nearly four months and he was fine with not having to wake up early for fucking stickball. But it’s Neil’s first practice since he got back and his good mood was spreading fast through the dorm, so even Andrew felt the need to put some effort, even if it was the bare minimum. 

Classes came and went and then it was time for afternoon practice. He was used to heading to Abby’s place then to be with Neil. It was strange having him on the passenger seat, but it was even stranger seeing him sitting out most of the practice. At least, he was able to try some drills in the morning. 

Coach stopped the whole team before they headed out to shower. He had the schedules and matches to be held for the rearranged championship. They were facing the Binghamton Bearcats in one month, and the final match would be played two weeks after. Everyone cheered and celebrated. 

In one month, they trusted Neil could play more than the five-minute top threatened by Coach. The Foxes were finally moving as a whole after the striker’s return and the Bearcats weren’t one of the Big Three, so they felt entitled to lift their hopes up, even if it was the weirdest season on the books. 

With a date to look forward to as the definitive end of the season, final exams on their way, and Kevin bitching to have night practices again, weeks passed in a mix of sweat and stolen kisses with Neil whenever they had a few minutes to spare. The boy shone with excitement for being able to play, and the only thing Andrew could do about it was making sure he didn’t push too hard whenever he noticed the striker limping. 

Since it was only one match and Neil asked, Andrew conceded closing the goal on his half of the match. He had seen the Bearcats' previous matches, so he knew their patterns. It was easy. 

The weight of the Foxes playing or not the last match would depend then on how many points Kevin, Neil, and Dan could score, and hope their number was bigger than the rest. 

The ride to Binghamton was eternal and boring. Andrew certainly had a few ideas of how he could make time go faster, but not with the team that close, so he had to settle with the stories Neil told about his travels, hearing his wishes for going on a holiday someday, and his daydream that he would be able to play on finals. Then, he fell asleep on Andrew’s shoulder. 

The match was brutal. 

The twin was split the whole time between staying in place deflecting shots or run to shove out dirty players far from his lot. He kept the goal shut and their win wasn’t taken with grace, since the Foxes were the away team and certainly not anyone’s favorite despite the tons of gossip provided by Neil’s incident with the Ravens, but he couldn’t care less about the fans’ mood. 

Andrew’s arms were close to burnout when the final buzzer confirmed their win. The Foxes gathered in the middle of the court and celebrated as if they had earned gold at the Olympics. The blond watched from the distance, when all he wanted was a shower and pile back into the orange bus, but he had to keep an eye on Neil, and he intended to wait until after he was done in the showers to carry their equipment, as he had done every practice. The striker was perfectly capable of carrying his own things by then, but helping made curious things futter in his chest, and painted a smile on his pipe dream. 

The celebrations were carried to his goal and he could only stare at Neil’s happiness. 

That was another moment to treasure. 

Finally, everyone headed out of court and started to clean up. Neil was waiting for him to finish, so they could get back to the others. The joy lighting his blue eyes was so powerful that Andrew nodded for the striker to join the rest while he got both their bags ready. Nothing would happen if Neil was out of his sight for a moment. 

The pipe dream had proved to be real. 

Andrew was almost out of the locker room when he felt a pinch on his neck. 

Duffel bags were dropped as he unfurled to fight, but the liquid spreading through his blood was faster, and everything turned black before he could do anything about it. 

* * *

A tall woman with a gargantuan red-lipped smile approaches him. “Are you awake now? Revenge is not fun if you can’t hear me.” It’s the same one who knocked him with a rock, and maybe a needle too. The one on the original list of the Moriyamas that Andrew ignored. 

Lola Malcolm. 

“Fuck you.” Andrew tries to stand, but his whole body is chained to the chair. His efforts send him to the floor. His hips hit instants before his head. His left arm is on fire after the impact. The sting in his scars is worse. 

“So bold but so small. Can’t believe you were the one who killed our boss.” 

The woman is too close and holding his face. The touch burns him worse than the pain on his head or his arms. He spits in her face. A shoe presses Andrew’s head to the floor. 

The betrayal of the Moriyamas sends waves of rage through him as terror replaces it fast when realization settles. 

“Where is Neil?” 

“Wait you insolent Gremlin. He hasn’t picked up again. Little boss said he was untouchable now, but he never said anything about you and Junior didn’t like it. Oh, hey, you heard that Junior?” 

Static of the phone echoes in the room. There is silence on the other end for minutes. 

“Fuck you.” The fear in Neil’s whisper shatters something in Andrew but relieves him at the same time. It doesn’t matter what they do to him as long as the pipe dream is safe. 

“Nathaniel, say hello to our special guest now that he is awake.” 

"Don’t you dare fucking touching him-” 

“Watch that mouth, Junior. As you recall, it’s my honor to tell my victims what I’ll do, and since this was meant to be for you once Nathan got out from jail, you both get to hear.” 

Andrew can’t pay attention to the things Lola mentions. The jagged screams of Neil on the other side of the phone are destroying him already. 

His promise was broken. 

Neil was unprotected and suffering. 

Because Andrew was about to get chopped.

That isn’t right. No one suffers for Andrew. Never. 

“Are you still there Junior? I’d like to start now.” 

The other end of the phone is dead. 

“Shame. We’ll get started without him then.” 

Andrew struggles as two men free him from the chair and pin him to the floor with a loud crash of his skull. He is too close to the drain. 

He tries to fight them, but the massive one from before joins to keep his legs glued in place. 

Romero Malcolm. Jackson Plank. Patrick DiMaccio. 

Fucking list. 

“Heard Junior and you like to do nasty things with each other. Such waste of tiny men. I’ll have a try anyway.” 

Lola climbs on top of him. She has a knife in her hands. The tip presses on the hollow in his throat, where the collar of his shirt starts, and cuts all the way down to his waist. She rips the shirt in two and leaves his bare chest on display. 

Then, she bends down and licks Andrew’s neck. Nausea piles in his throat as the woman sucks his nipples and keeps pressing her tongue until she reaches the hem of his pants. 

The contact is revulsing, and it only gets worse as fingernails dig inside his underwear to make way between his legs. Pulling, pinching, tickling, pressing until his body betrays him. 

Like Steven, Samuel, Drake, and Proust did. 

Nausea rolls from his stomach to his throat. He puts all his effort to contain a gagging sound while Lola keeps feasting on him. 

Andrew fights to get rid of the weight, but he is helpless with three men strangling his limbs and tugging his hair to keep his head in place too. 

The sharpness of a blade starts on the side of his lower belly and follows all the way to his knee. Lola tears apart the ruined pants and gets free access to Andrew’s intimacy. A shiver runs from his head to his toes. He can’t do anything to cover his unprotected body. The men pinning him only look away, but they never release the strength of their hold. 

The woman watches him with sickening delight before sliding down from his legs to his shins and sucks him. 

She bites and licks and digs her long nails on Andrew’s sides until his skin breaks and bleeds. 

His stomach tries to rebel again, but he only retches. His teeth are close to breaking from how hard Andrew is clenching his jaw. 

It’s an eternity before Lola gets up again, wiping her mouth with a hand. 

She leaves Andrew exposed. Trembling. Humiliated. 

Hotshots set his skin on fire everywhere Lola touched him. 

“That was good indeed. But I promised another delivery, so let’s get started.” 

Lola stands and disappears from Andrew’s view. His attempts to get free are useless once more. 

When she returns, she climbs over him again and takes his phone from one of her pockets. While the device beeps, waiting for the other side to answer, the sound of a blowtorch makes Andrew’s nerves stand on edge. 

“No one told you is unpolite to hang up, Junior?” There’s only silence on the other side. “Fine. Don’t talk. I’ll update. Your tiny boyfriend is delicious indeed. But I have to resume. See, we were planning on carving out that disgusting thing on your face. We’ll have to ruin a pretty face in your behalf. And because you are always running, we were cutting your legs tendon by tendon, but this one relies on his knives, so we are cutting his arms. Did your midget tell you that he made an exact copy of your scars on the Butcher? I’ll perfect his idea now. 

“No.” The whisper on the other side is too broken to be Neil. 

“Yes. And you will get to hear his screams. Word says he lost emotions and all that. We’ll see about that when he looks at his fingers on the floor.” 

Andrew can’t think, can’t remember, can’t move as the tip of a red-hot knife gets pressed to his left cheek and sharp nails are dug in his jaw to keep him steady. 

He was right. The good weeks had to end, but he never thought it would be like this. 

At least he enjoyed all of Neil while he could and he got enough time to know it wasn’t a hallucination made up from his meds. 

Pain sears his cheek and spreads to his full face, but he doesn’t make a sound even if his teeth are cracking. He won’t make Neil hurt more. 

“You know how to stay shut, don’t you? Nathaniel, have you seen the mess this one has on his arms? Of course, you do. It’s time to erase them. Can’t make clean cuts with that view. I began on the way here, but it wasn’t enough.” 

“No. Please.” 

And that word. 

Bolts of fury fill Andrew to fight again. He is not letting Neil fall into the same trap the twin fell when he was seven. 

The man on his left is slightly smaller than the one on his right. Despite the pain, he puts all his might into getting free. It hurts dislocating his joints to get free, but not more than hearing Neil’s strangled pry. 

If he is dying today, he doesn’t want Neil to hear. 

And if he will hear anyway, let it be the sounds of Andrew putting a fight to get back. As Neil did. 

He swings a closed fist to Lola and sends her to the floor before his arm is trapped again with jolts of agony. 

“Enough talking.” Says the woman cleaning the blood dripping from her nose. She is holding the fucking blowtorch again. 

Andrew braces for the pain but it’s not enough. The horrors he had faced are nothing alike. 

Lola pins first his left arm with the same knife she used to burn his face and gives the halt to the man over to hold it in place. Then she gets the blowtorch to the scars and new cuts of his right arm. 

Fire scorches his skin slowly. He watches in slow motion as his marred scars start changing color. Swelling. Blistering. Bleeding. 

He scrambles and twists to get away from the fire, but the knife pinned in place is dividing his other arm in two with every move he can manage below the fierce grips. 

A feral growl escapes his throat and Lola laughs as she moves the torch up. The knife held by the man on his left has made a hole in his arm. He can’t feel his fingers anymore. 

A scream bursts free against his will when the blade is taken out and stabs his burned arm. 

He doesn’t want Neil hearing this. It will break whatever defense survived Evermore. 

Another scream is finding its way out as the blowtorch now works over the open wound, cauterizing the cut and erasing his scars. He can’t feel his burned arm being torn apart with the knife. 

Andrew can’t notice immediately when the weight in his left arm is gone, but he can see the shock in Lola’s face as she lets the torch fall and stands to fight. 

All around is pain and confusion. 

A real hallucination from the pain. Maybe he is already dead. This is impossible. 

Because there is no way that Neil is standing around his body, bloodied knives in both hands, slashing and cutting everything in his way, making bodies fall, and fighting to free Andrew’s limbs. 

He can swear there is also a strike of rainbow moving at flash speed behind Neil. Clearing the path. Getting rid of the people torturing Andrew. 

“Andrew? Andrew?" 

The voice speaking is too far, too wrecked to be real. 

Andrew is too shocked to understand. He hadn’t been so afraid, so sore, so useless in so, so long. He finally loses control of his stomach and everything comes out, but there is no relief afterward. The pain and the sickness go on and force him to retch again until there is nothing left. 

There is a cling close to him. 

He wants the world to disappear beneath him. Die if he hasn’t. Pass out at least. 

He can’t tell when he curled on his side and covered his head with his battered arms. 

He is shaking. His head is throbbing. His arms sting. He is mostly naked. He is cold. His belly hurts from the effort. 

Neil heard him. Neil is watching him like this. Again. 

“Andrew? You’re bleeding, we need to stop it.” The voice outside is too hurt but sounds real. “Andrew?” 

“No.” The answer comes between shattered sobs. 

A part of Andrew that is still aware of the surroundings knows he is the one crying, but he is incapable of doing anything else. 

He promised to protect Neil and he failed. 

He failed to his promise as everyone else does. 

All because he thought he wouldn’t have enough time left with Neil. 

Because he thought the Moriyamas would finish their part of the job faster. 

“Don’t touch him.” The jagged voice turns fierce before being soft again. “Andrew, we need to get you out of here.” 

He doesn’t move. 

It takes ages before he can acknowledge that the shattered voice belongs to Neil. 

He can’t face him after failing a promise. He has failed him twice. 

That is unforgivable. That makes him a monster indeed. The monster everyone believes him to be. 

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t get faster. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you as I promised. I’m sorry it wasn’t me. I-” 

Andrew uncovers his face only an inch. His arms hurt too much, but he needs to see if Neil is indeed there, apologizing for a promise that was never his to keep. Hurting only because Andrew was hurting too. 

Andrew was sure that no one gave a fuck about what happened to him until he heard his name spoken with utter fear _for_ him, not _because_ of him. 

“You are a pipe dream.” He manages to say with a cracked voice. 

“Fuck you. I’m not. I’m real. You made me real.” There’s a pause before he goes on. “And I can’t lose you. Not like this.” 

Neil’s eyes are a few shades darker and glassy as he lowers a hand and places it extended, close to Andrew’s arms, but not touching. Never touching. Only waiting. 

“Let’s go home. Yes or no?” 

It takes minutes or maybe hours for Andrew to find enough courage inside of him to realize that Neil’s apologies were sincere and he still wants him. 

Maimed, useless, and humiliated, he’s still accepted. 

He was forgiven for breaking the promise between them even before he pointed his failure. 

The hand extended is still by his side. Asking. Expecting. Ready. 

Neil is feeling guilty for the consequences of Andrew’s miscalculated actions.

The striker didn’t choose his criminal family, but Andrew chose to get rid of them. The guilt and consequences should be only his. Neil should be away from this, enjoying his free life. Not extending his hand to pick the pieces of a wrecked monster like him. 

And yet, Andrew doesn’t have it in him to let go. Not when he is so terrified for the first time in so long. 

With trembling fingers, Andrew takes the offered hand and holds it as hard as he can with his numb fingers. 

It is as warm and real as the last time. 

“Yes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking so far with this :D There's only one chapter left!  
> I promise I'm giving my all to make up for all the feels.


	16. If you come back now, I'll come back to you

Shutting down the goal is hard for the first time. 

Neil didn’t ask for him to do it. He knows firsthand what it's like to be pushed beyond limits after being seriously hurt. And he has seen the worst of Andrew for the past days as much as Andrew has seen the worst of him. There is a mutual understanding that has ensured they will never trespass each other’s boundaries. Regardless, the goalie wants to give this to his pipe dream. 

An act of gratitude for the last days, and credit for the days to come, because he wants so many more and there aren’t enough words in any language to get his message clear. 

So, stickball will have to work in his favor for once. 

Even if that fucking Jeremy Knox that Kevin fangirls about all the time, is getting too close to the goal again, and defense is poking their eyes instead of doing their damned job. 

Andrew won’t fail again. 

* * *

Neil was so careful taking Andrew out of the house in Baltimore that his insides hurt more than the injuries in his arms and face. 

The striker kept a dangerous balance between ferocity against the curious eyes of his teammates looking for answers, and caution towards Andrew’s wellbeing all the way back home. 

Neil was the one facing the Foxes and defying Wymack against going to a hospital, because he knows how it is to have stranger hands all over, and he knows that was going to make Andrew unleash his buried fury and hurt himself even further. 

Neil made sure no one overcrowded Andrew. He was the one asking for Abby’s guidance to attend to the cuts and burns. He asked for Andrew’s consent before he made any move, and his hands, still stained with dried blood and shaking from his own feelings, were efficient and careful not to touch him unless it was strictly necessary. 

It had been _Neil_. The pipe dream who almost died months ago. 

It was the first time anyone treated Andrew like an actual person instead of a monster, and he couldn’t find a way to express how overwhelmed he felt for it. He didn’t deserve it. 

Not after breaking his own promise. Not when he had been weakened enough to scream and do it within Neil’s hearing reach. He was supposed to be unbreakable. The unmoving wall of indifference. The strength who ended all threats for the ones he claimed his. And yet, it had been Neil the one who ended the last names of the list. 

He faced the demons of his past only to save Andrew. And he didn’t deserve it. 

That night, when everyone parted to the dorms, it had been Neil the one who asked for privacy in Abby’s house, and he was the first to give the example. 

Andrew didn’t deserve watching Neil leaving him alone to clean and dress by himself even if it was a suicidal task with the pain making his arms scream even with the slightest movement. But Neil understood his need for time on his own. To get rid of the humiliation clinging to him. 

Andrew didn’t deserve having a bed on his own when Neil only curled in a small couch by Andrew’s side, holding his aching ankles with one hand, and clenching his sore ribs with the other. Waiting to help. 

Not forcing, not crossing boundaries. Making his face a blank mask even if his recovering body was aching from the game, the search, the anguish, the fight against his father’s people, and then the way back watching for Andrew as he finally passed out in the back of the bus. 

He didn’t deserve Neil watching over his sleep when he had come back running to his childhood home. A place he hated and dreaded, only for Andrew’s sake. It was too much. 

“Neil?” Andrew whispered with a raspy voice. He hadn’t talked since Neil found him. 

The pipe dream’s eyelids parted only a fraction. When he was aware of the calling, he rushed to the bedside. He was silent as Andrew worked the words he wanted to say. The questions he needed to ask. 

He would rather have his arms burned and stabbed again before hearing the answer, but he needed to know. It was the same fear eating him alive as when he didn’t know if Neil would live. Only this time, it was making friends with something similar to hope, and Andrew was sure he wouldn’t survive it when he was turned down. He wasn’t supposed to be feeling anything. He had worked his way around wanting nothing, and yet, his world was starting and ending with Neil. 

“It isn’t always yes anymore, is it?” 

“Last time I checked, it was me the one who asked stupid questions.” 

The striker crossed his arms over his chest. His emotions were safely guarded except for the tremble in his lower lip. 

“Lay with me?” 

Neil stood dumbstruck for ages. Of course, he wasn’t laying with Andrew. Who would want to be beside the rapped monster with the useless arms? This was the kind of _no_ Andrew had tried to warn Neil about. But then, as Andrew’s vision turned glassy, he could see the junkie sitting on the bed, taking off his shoes and then, laying on the edge. 

Unlike the times when he was asking for the company during those long recovery nights full of nightmares, Neil left enough space between them. 

“Anything else?” 

There was an uncomfortable weight stuck in Andrew’s throat. A knot wanting to burst along with the moisture piled in his eyes, ready to drop. With every blink, he could feel Lola’s tongue all over him, her nails digging his skin, her knives peeling off his clothes to expose him. The bodies of three men pinning him on site while his arms got destroyed and he was used as a sexual toy again. And then, he could make a perfect picture of Neil’s horror finding him like that. 

The knot burst despite his unwillingness to allow it. Neil only watched. There was no judgment or pity in his clear eyes. Only a bit of surprise well hidden and a hand extended, close to Andrew’s reach in case he needed a lifesaver as Neil had. 

It stung and burned and send waves of agony to his whole body, but Andrew extended his arm and found Neil’s fingers. 

“Don’t leave me.” He answered as calmly as he could muster. 

“Never,” Neil said seconds before Andrew drifted off. 

The pipe dream anchored him enough to keep every nightmare at bay. 

* * *

“Move your fucking ass faster, Minyard.” His brother sends Andrew a murderous look once he realizes who is talking to him like that. 

“And you Boyd, cover your right. Every striker is passing by without effort.” Unlike his asshole twin, Matt directs him an immense smile and starts paying attention. 

“Danielle, rebound more and shot to the backliners. Let them dodge the dealers. And you send it back after. Day and Josten can run after the next rebound.” The girl almost gets tackled when she turns to see Andrew instructing her. 

The Trojans are fast and know how to work as a team, but they wanted to play fair and are using only nine players as the Foxes do, and they are getting tired fast. This is their chance to make a miracle and no one sees it, but Andrew, who has perfect insight from the farthest side of the court. And he is not throwing away his chance if it means giving Neil the win he wants so desperately. 

The strength put behind the hit that deflects another direct shot to the goal makes the wounds in Andrew’s arm to send jolts of agony strong enough to make him drop the racquet, but he is not giving Wymack the pleasure of subbing him when there are fewer than twenty minutes left on the clock. 

“Aaron, get out of the fucking court now and give Renee your racquet.” 

“The fuck?” 

“You are useless and she knows how to block. Out. Now.” 

The outrage of his brother is almost tangible. Andrew doesn’t care. He can go mop to Katelyn later. Right now, he needs a good defense if he really intends to last the rest of the match without crumbling to the floor. 

Renee gets in, doubtful. As soon as Neil notices her, he comes running all the way from far fourth to check on him. 

“Get back to your place Josten. You can’t score from here.” 

The eyes of the striker get wide in awe. The helmet covers his mouth, but Andrew knows there is a grin even bigger than the one on Matt’s face. Renee nods at him while Andrew stands impassive despite the pain cursing through his arms. It takes Neil a few instants to react, but he gets back to his place and keeps running as he knows. 

Whereas the ball is closer to the Trojans, Andrew allows himself a moment to watch his pipe dream play. He is back to his best performance, and he is mixing the things Kevin taught him, along with the technics seared into him by force of hits during his stay with the Ravens. Good thing his face won’t betray him behind the helmet, because Andrew is marveled by the speed of the man. 

There are only a few seconds on the clock. Kevin shots an impossible rebound. Neil’s backliner is a foot and at least a dozen pounds bigger than him, but the striker is way faster. He jumps higher than the backliner anticipates and catches the ball. He hasn’t landed when the ball is thrown to the goal with extreme force and accuracy. 

The opposite wall lights red in the last second before the buzzer sounds. 

The Foxes win six to five. Andrew couldn’t block three shots. They won thanks to Neil. 

The striker and his backliner are both on the floor. He is pressing his hands against his ankles, face covered by the helmet. Andrew wants to run to him. Make sure Neil is okay after that insane jump, but his view is blocked by the mass of orange cheering and jumping in the middle of the court. 

Next time he gets a clear view, Neil and the backliner are leaning on each other, walking slowly towards their teammates. 

Despite his reluctance, Andrew gets dragged to the Foxes celebrations. Neil by his side. Their helmets are off. He can see the smiles on everyone. His striker has the brightest though. The goalie slides a hand and intertwines his throbbing fingers with Neil’s. 

Every pain in his life is worth the look in Neil’s eyes when their gazes meet. 

But when they are in the showers, and the pipe dream is helping him out of the equipment. 

When he wraps in plastic the bandages in Andrew’s arms to protect them from the water. 

When he is still waiting outside, armbands and clean clothes ready. 

When he leans closer to the blonde's body and asks “Yes or no?” 

It’s Andrew. The monster, the insensible, the unemotional, the undeserved, the respected, the needed, the loved. The one who started cleaning the world so Neil could live in a safe place. 

It is him and nobody else the one who replies with something resembling a smile spreading through his face: “Thought we agreed it’s always yes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it!!!  
> Thank you to everyone who believed in this. For the comments, the kudos, the views, and making this my most successful fic yet.  
> Thank you even more for sticking around through all the angst and suffering I put my boys in. I solemnly swear I didn't want them to hurt that much... but the plot turned too juicy to let it go.
> 
> Thanks again, and see you in the next adventure :D

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!  
> Thoughts, feelings? Tell me! I live for your kudos and comments :D
> 
> You can find drawings and more AFTG / TRC on [@trispitas](https://www.instagram.com/trispitas/) and [@doodlingstuff](https://doodlingstuff.tumblr.com/).  
> See you there!


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